


'Til Next We Dream

by JRC10



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 20 year fix, Dreamsharing, F/M, Watch out for mules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRC10/pseuds/JRC10
Summary: 5 years after Culloden, Claire Fraser is finishing medical school and Jamie is living an isolated life in a cave on Fraser lands.  Their grief over the loss of each other is an oppressive strain on their existence.One day, while studying on the steps near the Harvard Medical School courtyard, Claire drifts off to sleep to find herself standing in front of Jamie at Lallybroch.As the weeks go by, Claire and Jamie meet again and again in their dreams...could there possibly be something more to these unconscious dalliances?Are these timeless lovers fated to live and dream 200 years apart forever?  Or will they find a way to make their dreams a reality?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 608
Kudos: 600





	1. Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> I took a few obvious, yet minor liberties with canon...like aspects of the nature of Claire's relationship with Frank upon her return from the stones, and that she started medical school in 1949 (nearly a year after she gave birth to Brianna).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> It’s my fix for all the things that hurt most during their separation for me.

Day Dreams  
___________________

*****  
He should’ve been wildly out of place with his flaming, red hair and Fraser kilt...but he wasn’t.

Harvard Medical School’s quadrangle courtyard was covered in a vibrant, green grass that reminded me of the rolling hills of Scotland. The old architecture of the Armenise Medical Research Building seemed a perfectly reasonable place for James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser to be visiting…

Except it was 1953 and Jamie Fraser was no time traveler.

Yet, there he was...standing not twenty feet away. The pained look of longing in his eyes echoed through every line of his face.

I looked to my left where Joe Abernathy was sitting only moments before reading a passage from our neurology textbook. But Joe was gone. Everyone was gone.

Except Jamie...and me.

I closed the book in my lap and set it aside. When I stood, my feet felt suddenly uncomfortable in their shoes. I wasn’t wearing my 1950’s pumps any longer. In fact, I wasn’t wearing any of my modern clothes. I was in a wool dress, complete with stays and a bum roll.

 _I must be dreaming_.

I looked up to Jamie again, afraid he’d be gone in my momentary glance away. He was still there, still watching. I took a step down toward the courtyard, toward my husband, and I nearly fell. I wasn’t at the Armenise building any longer...I was walking down a hill of grass…

A large tower shaded me from the sun just to my left. It was Broch Tuarach. I was home at Lallybroch!

I ran forward to my husband and threw my arms around him. He grunted as my body hit his, as though he wasn’t prepared for me to consist of solid flesh. He was hard and stiff as I buried my face in his neck. The scent of unbathed male working and hunting for days on end filled my nose, not the least bit unappealing.

“Jamie…” I whispered, tangling my hands in his gorgeous hair of copper, auburn, and mahogany. “Oh, Jamie.”

Still, he hadn’t moved. I pulled my face back to look in his eyes. They were darker blue than any ocean I’d ever seen. His brow was narrowed in disbelief.

“Jamie,” I touched his cheek. “Kiss me, soldier. I don’t know how long this dream will last.”

Finally, he let out a breath. “'Tis a dream then? Ye’re no really here?”

“No...I’m not.”

His hands came up around me, feeling the curves of my body. The look of anguish never left his eyes. “Ye feel sae real, Sassenach. Like the day ye left me. I can smell flowers in your hair.”

His voice struck a tuning fork deep in my chest, vibrating through my core. It was everything comforting and familiar and erotic and safe.

I cupped his face in my hands and stroked his cheeks with my thumbs. “Jamie.”

“Claire,” his voice broke in the middle of my name. “Oh, Claire...how badly I needed this dream.”

His head dipped down, and his lips met mine. Oh, God, it felt so good. That familiar mouth molded to mine, traces of a beard scratching my face, awakening sensations I no longer knew I had.

He seemed to be savoring me—or perhaps processing his shock—with every movement slow and measured. Part of me knew I’d wake up at any moment back on the steps of the Armenise building, so an urgency underlied every move I made.

My tongue pushed open his mouth seeking its mate. He groaned as his shock wore off and his body adapted to mine. His long arms wrapped tight around me, pulling me hard against him. My longing for him over the past five years drove me mad with lust. He was aware of me now; aware of my need. He could feel it in my kiss, in the vibration of my body.

He looked up to the house as if considering whether or not he should take me to bed, and I shook my head...too far away. _Here_. _Now_. He nodded in agreement, and in a moment, I was flat on my back on the beautiful green hills surrounding Lallybroch, skirts and kilt lifted, warm skin touching warm skin.

And with a thrust of his hips, Jamie was in me. “Oh!” Five years was too long! I’d been faithful to the husband of my heart, even if he was dead these last two-hundred years. I couldn’t touch another man knowing it was Jamie I wanted. How could anyone else compare? I’d rather be needy, lust-crazed, or sexually repressed than disappointed and unsatisfied.

Jamie never left me unsatisfied. He gave everything he had, everything I needed, and this was no exception. His cock hammered into me as his mouth devoured mine. I’d unleashed his formidable lust, and now it had taken over. His growling and groaning mingled with my whimpers and moans, our tongues tasting each sound as they passed from our throats.

His hands somehow freed my breasts, and he was massaging and squeezing life back into them. How long they’d been stagnant and unused! His mouth dropped from my lips, over my throat, and latched onto a nipple. His hips never stopped, and mine met him thrust for thrust.

One of my hands tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against me. The other was under his shirt, finding as much skin as possible. His muscles, his scars...it was all there, just as I remembered. I thanked and cursed my exquisite memory for never letting go of a single detail of this man.

Jamie rose to his knees, grabbing my bottom in his hands, watching my face as he drove into me. With him out of reach, my hands fell over my head, laying on a mixture of long, Highland grass and wild, curly hair.

“Ye are sae beautiful, my Sassenach. After all this time, no one compares. My eyes are greedy at the sight of ye.”

It had been too long, and I was too ready. I came apart with him looking down on me and uttering the sweetest words from his rolling Scottish tongue. His hands squeezed tighter around my arse as I clamped down on him demanding he come with me.

Still he thrusted over and over. “I canna tell if ye’re trying to push me out or pull me in wi’ all that squeezing,” he laughed, “but I’ll be buried deep inside ye when my seed spills, Sassenach.”

He lay over me as pleasure overtook all my sense. His hips still fired like pistons as he wrapped my body in his arms, crushing the air out of me. Oxygen was no loss, I hadn’t use for it anyway in my breathless condition.

“Oh, God. Oh, Claire,” he moaned. His pelvis pressed hard between my legs as he erupted inside me. I kissed his neck as his body shuddered, and tasted sweat and man and Jamie. “Oh, Claire.”

His weight collapsed on me, limp and heavy. We lay there listening to each other breathe, feeling the effects of orgasm throughout our bodies. Complete and utter bliss in the space of a dream.

A dream. I had forgotten it was a dream. So real he felt in my arms. I was certain that when I woke, I’d feel the moisture of my pleasure as I walked into class.

“I wish we could sleep forever,” I said. “I don’t want to leave you.”

His head came up, and his eyes smiled down on me. “Aye, Sassenach, but ye must live. Though, I’ll take this memory wi’ me for another five years, at least.”

I traced his Viking cheekbone as I said, “I can’t wait another five years for a dream like this.”

“If only we could steer the ships of our unconscious, mo nighean donn.”

“I can’t even steer the ship of my conscious! And you get far too sea sick for discussion of steering ships.”

His laugh was the most beautiful song in my ear. “Oh, Claire…”  
*****

“Claire...Lady Jane?” I felt a tug at my shoulder and a gentle shake. “You awake?”

My head snapped up, and my eyes popped open. I was sitting on the steps of the Armenise building with Joe once again. I’d fallen asleep with my textbook open in my lap. I was using it as a platform for my elbows, which held up my hands that I was using for a pillow.

I flushed red at the sight of my friend, wondering if he could possibly know what just transpired in my brief unconsciousness. “I’m sorry...I must have dozed off.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Lady Jane. Med school, a four year old, a husband...I would’ve run off to dreamland years ago if it were me.”

“You have to have time to sleep to get to dreamland.” A tear dropped down my cheek, and I wiped it away hoping Joe didn’t have a chance to see.

Joe chuckled as he packed up his books and stood offering me a hand. “Let’s get to class. The sooner we graduate, the sooner you’ll get to a full night’s rest.”

“Only a few more weeks.”

“No time, at all.”

I stood up and walked with Joe to our next lecture. I was back in my 1950’s pumps, and as comfortable as they were, I’d much prefer my Highland shoes.

“You’ve got a smile on your face, Lady Jane. A real one. That’s nice to see.”

“Do I?”

“It must’ve been some dream you were having, tears and smiles.”

“Indeed...the best kind.”

_____________________________________

Jamie woke with a sudden intake of breath. Claire was just in his arms...then she was gone. The loss was painful...excruciating. He was gutted once again, like he was back at the goddamn stones.

It was stupid to be so affected by the loss; she’d warned him from the beginning it was just a dream. It just felt so real. In all his dreams before, she was some ethereal creature...a faerie...an angel...blessing his sleep with her presence. But in this dream, she was flesh and blood and woman.

He sat up and felt the effect of his dream on his breeks. He’d have to wash them. He grumbled to himself in irritation. He hadn’t awoken to a mess like that since before he’d married Claire.

At least it was still light out. He’d fallen asleep in the late afternoon lost in his thoughts, and he’d awoken only a couple hours later. As he walked to the creek to wash himself, he could see the sun sinking toward the horizon, its light filtering through the trees.

The chill of the water helped bring him back to reality. He could still feel Claire’s lips on his skin and her warm center squeezing his cock. He knew from years living alone in his cave that it was never a good thing to linger in lust for his wife. He’d never be satisfied with his hand, and he refused to entertain the idea of trying to find a release in another woman. His wife may not be alive in 1751, but she was alive somewhere...some time...he had to believe it so.

Even if she was with...him. He stifled his rage. He needed that man to care for his wife and child.

Jamie would force himself not to sleep that night. Claire was too fresh in his mind. The scent of her, the feel of her. If he went back to sleep, he’d be right back in her arms, and the pain of waking up without her was too much for twice in one day.

And even if he fell asleep without meeting his wife in his dreams again, he’d be all the more resentful of Morpheus for withholding her.

He walked back to the cave while pulling a willow sprig between his teeth—a habit not even five years away from the woman could break. Somehow, he still feared her chiding about losing his teeth before he was thirty.

“Hallo, the cave,” said his brother-in-law's voice. Ian was standing near the entrance to the cave with a sack in his hands.

“Hmphm,” Jamie grunted, walking up behind him.

Ian turned on his good leg and smiled. “Nice to see you, too. Ye’re in good spirits!”

Ian enjoyed his own sarcasm far more than Jamie did. Jamie wasn’t fit for company at the moment.

Then again, wasn’t he just wishing he could distract himself from the intensity of his dream? If he really wanted Claire out of his head, this was a perfect opportunity.

That was where the real problem lie. Jamie couldn’t live with the dreams and memories of his wife, as painful as they were, yet he couldn’t live without them either...without her. He was in a constant battle between hanging on to the intensity of feeling Claire provoked and hiding from it for his survival.

“I brought ye some books...some food," said Ian. "Mary MacNab wanted to make sure ye got some of her fresh bannocks.”

“Hmphm.”

Ian and Jenny seemed to have decided it was time for Jamie to move on. Hypocrites. As though one of them could move on without the other. Hopefully Jenny wasn’t filling poor Mary’s head with her nonsense.

“Why don’t ye come by for dinner tomorrow? Yer nieces and nephews are going to forget yer face.”

Jamie could see from the shame in Ian’s eyes that he knew using the children to lure Jamie into one of Jenny’s traps was beneath him. “Hmphm.”

Ian nodded in acceptance. “Alright. Well then, come by after supper and have a dram wi’ me.”

Jamie was about to grunt again, but Ian interrupted, _“Just_ me _._ I swear. Ye’re not looking like yourself, Jamie. Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I have.”

Ian dropped his head and nodded knowingly, “Claire?”

Jamie didn’t need to make a sound for Ian to see the truth of it.

“Was it her spirit come visit ye?”

“Nay...a dream. A verra good dream.”

“If a good dream leaves ye looking like this, I’d pray I never have a dream like it.”

“If ye have a dream like mine, a bràthair, ye can turn to yer wife in yer bed and make it real. Whereas, I must grieve the loss of mine all over again.”

Ian put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s difficult for Jenny and me to see ye suffer so.”

“Hmphm.” Jamie regretted their sympathy, but there was naught to be done about it. He couldn’t let go of Claire...and he wouldn’t if there was a choice. For those few moments of his dream were worth five more years of pain.


	2. Ships in the Night

Ships in the Night  
___________________

“Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm,” I hummed little Brianna to sleep as I held her in the antique rocking chair in her room. Her fiery hair curled around my finger, and I admired the myriad colors that combined to make her vibrant shade of red...Jamie’s shade. Even in the dark it seemed lit from within.

I tried to enjoy my daughter growing heavy and relaxed in my arms as I rocked her back and forth, but for every happiness, there was a matching devastation. For every gratitude, a regret. With my dream of Jamie still fresh in my mind, holding her felt like holding a piece of him. I knew he’d see it that way, too. Sometimes I wished I could numb it all...drink it away. But then, as I stroked Bree’s gorgeous hair, I allowed both pleasure and pain to consume me.

I sang on as quiet and soothing as I could, “All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone…”

A very unScottish “Hmmf” came from the doorway. The sound was posh and English and full of resentment. It shocked my system with fear in a way that only one other man ever had...Black Jack Randall.

I snapped my head around and saw Frank walking away. He must’ve been watching me with Brianna. I supposed he didn’t much care for my song.

Whatever his irritation with me, I needed to get over the stomach turning fear I sometimes felt at the sound of his voice or when the light caught his face at the wrong angle. Frank wasn’t Black Jack Randall. Frank was a _good_ man, and wonderful father to Brianna. No, he wasn’t a great husband—not after years of constant rejection from me. But he wasn’t the one who tortured me, and he never met Jamie, much less ever laid a hand on him.

I just couldn’t let go of the similarities between them. Perhaps our marriage would’ve had a chance if he didn’t look so much like his several generations great uncle. How was I supposed to be the wife of a man that reminded me of one of the worst experiences of my life?

I couldn’t let him touch me. Anytime I tried, if guilt over being somehow unfaithful to a two-hundred years dead Jamie didn’t consume me, then revulsion to the touch a man who made the same sounds of pleasure as Black Jack Randall.

Frank understood, of course. Intellectually anyway. And he had Brianna as consolation. But that didn’t stop him from feeling resentful for not having done anything significantly wrong, yet having a wife fall in love with another man and refuse to let go.

Brianna was heavy with unconsciousness. I stood from the chair, grunting a little at the effort—she clearly took after the MacKenzies in her size—and brought her to her bed. As I laid her down and tucked her in, I’d prayed her dreams were all rainbows and unicorns and everything nice.

Frank was pouring himself a whisky when I came out to the sitting room. I nearly asked him to pour me one, too, but refrained when I watched him drain the first and start in on a second quickly. I passed by without acknowledgment and went to our room. I was exhausted, and I had clinicals in the morning. I needed to rest, not quarrel, which is exactly where engaging with Frank in that condition would lead.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and donned my silk pajamas. I went straight to bed and lay there with my earlier dream and Jamie fresh in my mind. I couldn’t help but turn to the empty side of the bed and look for my husband...the one with red hair.

My heart clenched heavy and painful in my chest to find no sign of him. What I would give to have him there, his long arms pulling me into his sleepy embrace, drifting off with his heat surrounding me…

*****  
My eyes opened to find the other side of the bed still empty and cold. In fact, the whole room was much cooler and much darker. There weren’t any street lights forcing their beams through the windows nor any lights coming from the hall.

Wondering if the power went out, I sat up and looked around. The last embers of the fire were close to burning out, so I got out of bed and stacked a few more pieces of wood. I stoked the embers until the flame caught once again. It wasn’t until I stood up and looked around with the light of the fire illuminating the room that I realized I was no longer in Boston.

I was home...Lallybroch. The Laird’s room.

“Jamie…”

He must’ve been as fresh in my unconscious mind as he was in my consciousness before I fell asleep. It was a dream, of course. I was certain I still had clinicals in the morning.

But...why wasn’t he here? My Unconscious was being quite devious this evening to place me in Lallybroch—in the Laird’s bed, no less—in absence of Jamie.

I grabbed a candle and lit it from the fire, then took it to a small candelabra and lit a few more. The rest of the house was dark and empty. There were no Murrays in the house, no children, no servants. No Jamie. Everything was dark and cold.

I sighed in disappointment and made my way back up to the Laird’s room. The fire was going strong, and the room was warm and cozy. Even if Jamie wasn’t there, it still smelled like him...and like Scotland.

It was warm enough in the room that I was able to open the window and sit on the sill. The night air was fresh, and I savored the contrast of cool air on one side and warmth on the other. The moon was bright and full, lighting up the land. I was sad to see my mind didn’t conjure up Jenny’s goats or the beastly dogs or Jamie’s horse. How I missed Donas.

How I wished Jamie was there. My breath caught in my throat thinking of my earlier dream. It had been so long since I’d dreamed of him, and no dream was ever more lifelike. I could still feel his lips on my skin, his heavy weight bearing down on me, his voice calling my name…

“Claire!” I savored the memory of the sound and tried to recall it again. “Claire!”

“Jamie?” The voice was real? Or real in _this_ dream? I looked outside and saw him running down the hill from the tower. “Jamie!”

His stride was long and purposeful, and it took no time for him to get to the house. I could hear him navigate through the darkness with an acute familiarity of his surroundings. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and as they got closer, my body propelled itself to stand.

There he was in the doorway looking as real as I’d ever seen him.

“Jamie,” the word stole my breath.

His mouth turned up, hinting at a smile. “Here ye are, Sassenach. I was looking for ye at the broch when I saw the light in the window.”

I laughed, “I’ll try to navigate my unconscious ship to you a little more intentionally next time.”

He chuckled in his low Scottish rumble. The sound had my feet moving toward him, slower than the last time, but not lacking in any degree of urgency. His hands came up as though unsure of where to put them first. He settled on grazing them ever so gently from my head, down my shoulders and arms, and to my hips.

“I was trying to avoid the inevitable heartache that seeing ye would leave me in the morning,” he said and kissed my forehead. “I tried my damnedest not to drift off in dreams, but I could feel ye come to me, mo nighean donn. I couldna refuse yer call.”

I buried my face in the hollow at the center of his chest and breathed him in. “Do spirits dream then? You feel like flesh and blood to me.”

He laughed, “You think it’s me who’s the spirit? I’m no the one who travels through stones.”

I couldn’t laugh with him, “I wish it were so, Jamie. I wish you weren’t a spirit. That you didn’t go to that damn battle to die.”

He cradled my face gently in his hands, “I didna die, Sassenach, as hard as I tried. I’m here, am I no?”

If this wasn’t a textbook example of Freudian wish fulfillment in dreams, then I didn’t know what was. Jamie visiting me in my dreams...telling me he’s alive and loving me still. My Unconscious must’ve felt sorry for all the torture my poor psyche had been subjected to since I lost him to offer even one day of this level of respite.

I wasn’t complaining.

“How long d’ye think we have this time, Sassenach?”

I shrugged, “Until the rooster crows, I expect.”

He grinned, “I didna see any fowl outside before I came in.”

“I guess that means we’ll have a good long while.”

He seemed to relax around me at the thought. “Good. I’ve a mind to take my time wi’ ye this evening.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye. I was mad wi’ lust this afternoon, but some sense has returned since then.”

I reached up on my toes and nuzzled his neck, “I’m glad one of us has…I can’t claim anything in the way of _sense_ when I’m this close to you and a bed...with no one in sight...and hours and hours stretched out before us.”

The friction of our bodies rubbing together through my barely-there shift was a teasing promise of what was to come.

“I canna tell ye how many times I’ve offered my soul for just one more night wi’ ye, mo nighean donn. One more chance to hear yer voice, to touch yer face.” He kissed me softly. “I suppose this means I’ll have to give up eternal paradise.”

“Are you sure it’s worth it?”

“Aye,” he said without hesitation before taking my mouth with his. He licked deep, caressing my tongue, moaning with pleasure. “And I’d hand over a dozen other souls for a dozen more nights wi’ ye.”

“Take mine. I don’t need it without you.”

“Never, mo nighean donn. Knowing ye’re whole is all that makes our sacrifice worthwhile. Let me protect ye, now. It’s all I have left.”

I pulled his mouth down to kiss me again. How perfectly my Unconscious remembered just how he felt...his kisses...his touch. His hands traced over my curves, circling my waist and moving down to grab handfuls of my bottom through the soft linen of my shift. His grip on me was so firm, my feet were almost leaving the ground.

“I want to touch you,” I said, pulling at the bottom of his shirt. My hands finally found the soft skin underneath and groped like they were starved for him. He let me go to pull the shirt over his head revealing the firm, broad planes of his body.

He pulled at the strings of my shift and spread the fabric over my shoulders. I let it drop to the floor with a whisper of sound. Jamie looked at me like he was staring into a bonfire...mesmerized, blinded to all else. And like a moth to a flame, he came close, heedless of getting burned. Then, I was in his arms again, skin to skin, save his kilt separating the last bits of us. The hair on his chest was rough and coarse against my breasts.

My legs ached to spread for him. I curled one around his thigh, begging him to take me to bed. He reached down and lifted, moaning into my mouth as I locked my ankles behind his back. I rubbed myself against his cock, barred from entering me by his kilt. I swallowed his frustrated grunts and licked deeper in search of more.

I felt gravity pull me down, and Jamie followed. I landed softly on our bed, not knowing how we got there. Jamie’s arm snaked around my back and lifted me to the center of the bed. He rose up on his knees and stared down at my naked body spread beneath him.

“God, Claire, I’ve never seen anything sae beautiful in my life.” He released his belt and pulled off his kilt, tossing it aside. “I want to watch yer face as I take ye. I want to see that bonnie look in yer eyes when my cock fills ye.”

My legs were butterflies open, waiting for him. He grabbed my hands with just one of his and pinned them over my head. His other hand held my cheek, holding my gaze as he brought his cock between my legs. His lips turned up, and his eyes flashed just before ramming his cock into me.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Jamie was struggling to keep his eyes open. His brow was knotted, and his teeth were bared. I was squeezing him without realizing what I was doing. Seeing the effect it had on him, I squeezed harder, with intention. As if to punish me, his hips pulled away, curving his spine back in a slow, deliberate motion. He reversed direction and nailed into me again. His heavy sack slapped hard against my arse.

I cried out uncontrollably. I couldn’t have inhibited myself if I tried. It didn’t matter, no one else was there.

Again, he pounded into me. I could feel the head of his cock rubbing the quivering walls of my quim. His pelvis smashed against my clitoris with every thrust. He was as lost now as I was, thundering away at my body.

I needed it to last forever, yet I knew neither of us could go much longer. I was dreading the end, yet paradoxically seeking climax with desperation.

“Claire!”

I didn’t know if it was a command or a warning, but the guttural sound of my name as his impressive body gave itself over set me off, had me yelling, screaming as I reached orgasm. I could feel the blood rushing through my body, bringing pleasure and ecstasy to where we joined with every thrumming heartbeat and every thrust of his cock.

He growled like an animal fighting for its life, as he pumped his hips one...two...three more times. I could feel him shooting into me, coating his cock as he struggled to thrust again and again, as though his body didn’t know how to stop.

Then he dropped. His mouth found mine as his weight crushed me into the bed. He ground his hips as though pushing his seed as deep as it could go. I kissed him like I would die if I didn’t. Tears were falling down my cheeks and gasps were coming from my lungs, but I just couldn’t stop kissing him.

“Claire...Claire...Oh, God, my Claire,” he mumbled into my mouth.

My hands ran up and down his back. His scars made both the smoothest of surfaces the roughest of textures. I knew the wild patterns of crisscrossed tissue better than I knew my own hands.

He cradled my head as he kissed me. He moved far more gently now that our lust was momentarily sated. He kissed for the taste of me, for the pleasure of filling the one he loved with all the most intimate pieces of himself.

We kissed on and on and on until our bodies awoke once again squirmed and rocked against each other. He was still inside me from before, and I could feel him firming once again. I shuddered and rolled my hips as my tongue danced with his. Pleasure never had a chance to drain from my brain before it started filling it back up.

He made love to me slower now. He rocked in and out as though our bodies were slow dancing to the oldest and purest of love songs. On and on it went, feeling more alive than I’d ever felt before.

This was bliss. In the arms of my lover, the arms of my husband, in most perfect of dreams...I found my heaven. My lips never parted from his except to whimper his name when he brought me to climax with him again.

___________________

We lay facing each other, my head resting on his arm. I couldn’t stop touching him. He was exactly as I remembered. No new scars, no new marks or injuries. That's how I knew he was a dream. My real Jamie had gone back to Culloden...there was no way he’d survive that battle without a mark on him.

And there was my body, too. I was completely unchanged from the day I passed through the stones a second time. I hadn’t my stretch marks from Brianna’s pregnancy, nor any other new scars picked up in the meantime.

This was a dream of a moment in time...a brief moment where I was Jamie’s and he was mine, and nothing came before and nothing came after, and most certainly, nothing came in between. In the morning, I’d wake in my bed in 1953 next to a man I no longer wanted to be near.

But, damn, this felt real. Jamie felt so real. His warm breath grazed my skin, moving wild strands of my hair, tickling my face. His warm body heated mine even though the fire had long since burned out. Our legs tangled together beneath the quilt. The only light in the room was the moon shining through the window casting it’s pale glow around us.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said, tracing his jaw with my fingertip.

His eyes twinkled in invitation.

“What’s it like? Heaven.”

He laughed, “You tell me. I’m no the spirit, remember?”

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to paradise, I think.”

He placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m not convinced it isn’t.”

“Jamie?”

“Hmm?”

I felt tears filling my eyes, “What if a dream like this never happens again?”

He pulled me closer and lifted my chin, “This day, this night, was more than I could ha’ hoped for, my Sassenach. ’Tis a gift, and if it shall never come again, I will be grateful enough for the time we had.”

I shook my head, “It’s not enough for me. It’ll never be enough.”

He chuckled. “Ye always were a greedy wee thing, mo chridhe.” He kissed my lips. “But, Sassenach, even as I’ll be grateful if these dreams are just for today, it sets a precedent, does it no? It has happened before, so who’s to say they willna come again?”

“You think?” Hope blossomed in my heart.

“I dinna ken. But I know I’ll close my eyes each night praying for ye to come to me.”

And I knew I’d do my best to steer my unconscious ship toward him every time I fell asleep for the rest of my life.

________________________

“Dawn’s no far away, mo nighean donn.”

“Can’t you make time stop?”

He laughed, for I was the one who moved through time, not him.

“Lie back,” he said, “And I’ll make ye forget there’s such a thing as time.”

I lay back on the pillow and opened myself to him. He didn’t waste any of our precious minutes. He brought his mouth down between my legs and made more than time disappear; pain, loss, anger, and fear dissolved around us as he rained kisses down on me.

I could hear the sounds of each of his kisses and the gentle lapping of his tongue on my tender flesh. He kissed me there much like he kissed my mouth, with the same caressing adoration, only he held my bottom instead of my hair, he licked my clitoris instead of my tongue, and he reached deep in my quim rather than into my mouth.

“I’m determined to wake wi’ the taste of ye on my lips and yer sounds fresh in my ears. Dinna hold them back, Sassenach.”

As if I could. All I could do was lie there and feel his love for me. I ran my fingers through his hair and let my hips roll into his mouth as they pleased. I let my sounds flow freely from my lips with each stroke of his tongue, each suckle of his mouth, each nip of his teeth.

When he sucked up my clitoris and sped his tongue, my hips lifted from the bed and pressed hard against his mouth. His hands gripped my arse, and he moaned like he was filling himself with the finest of French desserts.

My insides tightened and quivered, and I screamed something incomprehensible even to me. His tongue didn’t stop as my pleasure came gushing. He was growling and consuming like I was the source of the sweetest nectar of the gods.

Rays of sunshine suddenly filled my eyes, and off in the distance I heard the crow of a rooster.

“No!” I yelled. I wasn’t ready. My body was still coming in his mouth. “Jamie!”

When the sound penetrated his ears, he looked up with the sweetest smile...like I’d given him everything he could’ve ever wanted. The rooster’s crow was a high-pitched, incessant noise that wouldn’t stop. A repetitive chirping that was beginning to sound more like a tree of canaries than a cock.

“No, Jamie, I’m not ready. Don’t let me go.”

“I love ye, Claire.”

“I love you.”

The repetitive chirping shifted to an unearthly ringing. Jamie raised his brow at the alien sound. “What the devil?”  
*****

I reached over and turned off my alarm. I rolled over, trying as hard as I could to get back to sleep. Just five more minutes. I’d even take one more minute. Just let me say goodbye!

I turned to my right in hopes I was still dreaming and Jamie was lying next to me. The man in my bed stirred restlessly from my alarm, then rolled over and gave a small, nasal rumble that was all too familiar, but not a sound any Highlander had ever made.

I fell back into my pillow and felt my chest tightening up. Tears filled my eyes, and my lungs shuddered, trying to pull in air.

 _Jamie_ …

Afraid to wake Frank and have his presence imposed on my grief, I rolled out of bed and went straight to the shower. The hot water blended with my tears as I shook and sobbed in despair.

Loss is not so terrible a thing when you aren’t presented with the alternative. But that dream was _everything_ I ever wanted in life! The cosmic unfairness that the man I loved was dead was un-fucking-bearable. I stifled my moans of agony as I sank down to the floor and let the scalding water wash over me.

At some point, I forced myself out of the shower and dried myself off. I stared at my pathetic, blotchy face in the mirror and scolded, “Buck up, Beauchamp. You’ve done this before. Pull yourself together and do it again.”

I got dressed and did my hair and makeup with little more vitality than a robot. I skipped the coffee. Aside from the lethargy of depression, I don’t think I’d slept a full night so solidly since I’d been back in the twentieth century. I was anything but tired.

I nearly left the house without saying any goodbyes. I just wanted to be alone in my grief...but I couldn’t leave without seeing Brianna. She was fast asleep in her bed. Even with her long limbs, she seemed so small. So tiny and helpless. I knelt on the floor and watched my daughter in a moment of quiet and peace.

Her red hair billowed around her face. I delicately brushed it back with my fingers and caressed her cheek. The sweetest little smile graced her face.

“You’re so much like him,” I whispered. “I love you, darling...quite as much as I love him.”

I took my love for our daughter and used it to fuel my steps out the door to face the day. This was all for her. I could bear the worst of my suffering because I had a reason to endure.

Jamie wanted it this way...

_____________________

“This is a damn fine boar, Jamie,” said Ian as they walked beside the horse pulling what would be the evening’s supper behind them. After Jamie killed the beast, he had to get help to drag the enormous animal back to the house. “Ye got it wi’ an arrow?”

“Aye...and a dirk.”

“Jenny will be pleased. As grateful as she is to Claire for telling her to plant the potatoes, I think she’d go mad if we had to go one more day without cooking meat with them.”

Jamie smiled, “Aye, she just wants to make sure the bairns are well fed.”

Ian looked at him with his eyebrows raised. “Ye know, that’s the first time in five years I mentioned Claire and ye didna grumble at me.”

“Hmphm. I dinna grumble.”

“Aye, ye do. Even last night when ye told me of yer dream.”

They walked on in silence for a moment...the only sounds were the horse’s clopping feet, Ian’s uneven walk, and the dragging pallet behind them.

Finally, Jamie said, “I dreamt of her again last night.”

“Aye?”

Jamie licked his lips...the salt of her quim still lingered there. “Aye. It was...nice. I was happy to see her.”

“Happy?” Ian’s voice was surprised. “I dinna think ye kent the meaning of the word any longer.”

“Hmphm.” Jamie chuckled.

“And I dinna ken ye remembered how to laugh.”

They walked on. Jamie’s hand moved to his mouth where he swore his lips were swollen from kissing his wife for hours on end. “She was my heart and soul, ye ken. How can man laugh and be happy wi’out them?”

“And yer dream? Ye think she brought yer heart and soul back to ye?”

“Aye, for a while.”

“Good. ’Tis nice to know they arena lost forever.”

No. They certainly weren’t lost forever. His heart and soul were 200 years away.

“Claire…” Jamie hesitated. He forced himself to press on, “She was wi’ child before she…at Culloden.”

Ian sucked in a breath and clenched his chest, “Oh, Jamie, a bràthair. I’m sorry.”

Jamie nodded. “’Tis a small comfort to know my wife isna alone...she’ll always have our bairn.”

Ian grabbed Jamie’s shoulder and squeezed. It was nice to talk to his friend, his brother. He hadn’t spoken so many words in the last five years put together.

As they came up on the broch, Ian asked, “How did she ken about the potatoes?”

Jamie smiled, “She was an auld one. Ye ken as well as I.”

Ian nodded, “I figured as much. A shame she couldna see what was coming for her and the bairn.”

“Who said she didna?”

Ian stopped in surprise as Jamie and the horse walked on. Jamie scratched at his long beard, remembering the comfort of a clean-shaven face from the dream.

“Leave it to James Fraser to marry a damn faerie woman,” Ian laughed and followed behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just delighted reading your comments. Thank you for your encouragement and motivation.


	3. All Fun and Dreams Until...

All Fun and Dreams Until...  
___________________

“Agh!” Jamie yelled as he woke. He was confused and disoriented. Blood was pumping forcefully through his body, his heart thrumming wildly, and he was sucking in air as quickly as he could.

The last thing he expected when he fell asleep was to wake up at Culloden. It was a dream...a normal dream, if there was such a thing. It wasn’t like his recent dreams of Claire that seemed to have normal progressions of time, where his body and mind worked just as it did when he was awake. This one was already leaving his mind, was clouded with the fogginess of unreality, and was difficult to remember the flash of events, some that once happened and others that didn’t.

It had been three days since he last dreamed of Claire. Every night he went to sleep thinking of her, eager to meet her in the Laird’s room or at the broch once again. But she never came.

He recalled his words to her, that even if they only had that one day, he’d be grateful. And he _was_ grateful for that day, but that didn’t mean it would be easy to endure the rest of his long nights without her.

The first morning, he woke disappointed and a bit wistful. The second, frustrated and impatient. This morning, he woke with Culloden on his mind, still coming down from the berserking of war, sick to his stomach, bitter and angry that Claire was no longer coming to him.

He was restless all day. He paced his cave for hours knowing he couldn’t go hunting or fishing when he wasn’t completely in control of his body and mind. Eventually, he ventured out for a long walk in the woods and mountains. It wasn’t exactly safe to do so; he could get picked up by the redcoats if he made a wrong move, but even that didn’t feel so tragic any longer. What did he have to lose?

As night drew near, he made his way back to the cave ready for another attempt to meet Claire, as unlikely as that would be. He knew he shouldn’t depend on their rendezvous, nor should he expect it. He probably shouldn’t even hope for it.

But he did. He hoped with every fiber of his being.

So, when he got to his cave, he lay down and looked at the stars above, hoping Claire was looking at the same ones wherever she was...whenever she was. But as he lay there, his body grew sick and tense thinking of his nightmare at Culloden. A war he was all too familiar with began raging in his mind...desperate for sleep yet terrified of what it might bring.

“Hmphm.” He sat up in frustration. He needed a dram. Perhaps he could get one from Lallybroch without waking anyone.

He took a meandering route to the house, no longer in a hurry to find sleep. Keeping his body moving and occupied seemed to be helping the effects of his nightmare wear off.

A candle was lit in the study when he arrived. Jamie moved quietly through the house to see if Ian was staying up late with the ledgers. He found Ian at his desk, his injured leg elevated and a glass in his hand. Jamie noticed the whisky bottle and an empty glass sitting on the desk in front of an empty chair waiting for him.

Ian waved him in and pointed at the seat.

“How d’ye know I’d come?”

Ian shrugged, “I didna. Ye’ve been a wee bit more sociable since dreaming of Claire, so I thought I’d have a glass ready for ye, just in case.”

Jamie poured a glass, drank it down right away, and poured another before sitting.

“Like that, is it?” asked Ian.

“Hmphm.”

“I’m guessing Claire hasna come again?”

Jamie shot back the drink and poured another. Ian didn’t bother with comforting words, and Jamie was grateful. They sat and drank in silence.

Ian didn’t try to keep up with Jamie; Jamie was on a mission—whether that mission was to knock out drunk or numb himself to the world, he didn’t know—and any attempts to follow would’ve been fruitless. When they finished the bottle, Ian tracked down some brandy. And when they finished _that_ bottle, he went searching the house to find anything consumable that was either distilled or fermenting.

A crash in the sitting room told Jamie that Ian’s search was being hindered by some grand and fierce obstacle. He was surprised to find Ian’s own false leg to be the culprit. Ian was sprawled out on the floor trying to gather his bearings.

Jamie’s head was mildly taken by drink, but he certainly wasn’t drunk off only one shared bottle of brandy and a bit of whisky. It was clear Ian had lost his stomach for holding spirits in his years as a settled married man.

“Ye alright, a charaid?” asked Jamie.

“Oh, aye. Just lost my footing on the rug there.”

Jamie looked at the bare floor. There had been no rug in the room for the last week since Fergus accidentally set it on fire while stoking the evening flames. Jamie laughed and helped Ian to stand.

“What the devil are ye thinking making such a racket?” demanded Jenny as she came down the stairs. “If the bairns wake, ye’ll be in no fit state to care for them, sloshin’ around as ye are. And I’ll no’ lose any more sleep tonight, I promise ye.”

“Jenny, mo chridhe,” Ian slurred, “have a heart for yer brother. Claire’s been visiting his dreams, ken? I was just finding him some more whisky.”

Irritated with Ian’s loose lips, Jamie pushed him back so he landed clumsily on the couch.

“I see,” said Jenny, rage dissipating in a moment. She came into the sitting room and reached in the basket holding her yarn. She came out with a small flask of whisky. She tossed it to her brother.

Jamie sat on the chair opposite Ian and opened the bottle. He heard his sister’s deep sigh and watched her sit next to Ian, inspecting him for injury.

“Ye alright, brother?” she asked Jamie while tending to a scrape on Ian’s elbow.

“Hmphm.” He tried his best to show he was fine, but it didn’t sound convincing. Perhaps he was more gone with drink than he thought.

“Does she visit ye often?”

Jamie didn’t want to have this discussion with Jenny. He knew exactly where it would lead.

“No,” said Ian. “Just a couple of times a few days ago.”

“If I’d known ye’d be flappin’ yer trap to my sister, I wouldna ha’ said a damn thing.” Jamie tipped back the flask and drank all that was inside.

“I ken ye miss her, Jamie,” said Jenny. “We all miss her...but holding onto her is making ye miserable. Ye need to find a way to move on.”

Jamie closed his eyes and laid his head back. He wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation.

“He canna just move on, mo nighean dubh,” said Ian drunkenly. “She was wi’ child when she died. He’s grieving her and his bairns, ken.”

Jenny sucked in a breath, but not even that stalled her. “All the more reason, brother. If ye ever want to have a child, a family, ye’ve got to open yerself up to possibilities.”

“Jenny…” Jamie warned.

“Mary McNab is a…”

Jamie stood up in anger and yelled quietly so as not to wake the children, “I dinna w _ant_ Mary McNab! I had everything I wanted, and it’s gone! Let me grieve my wife and children in peace.”

Jenny stood up, unafraid of her brother’s anger, “Peace? Ye think what ye’re feeling is peace? Searching the house for drink, falling all over yerselves stupid because ye can’t face what yer life has become is not peace!”

“And ye think if I rut wi’ a woman I care naught for, treat her like a whore, betray my vows to my wife that I’ll find peace?”

“Betray yer vows? Ye promised yerself to her as long as ye both shall live. She’s dead, Jamie. Ye’re no’ beholden to those vows.”

“Ye dinna understand…”

“Let her go, Jamie! Let her spirit leave for heaven.”

“She’s no’ dead!”

“Ye’ve…” Jenny stopped in her tracks. “What d’ye mean, ‘she’s no’ dead?’”

Jamie ran his fingers through his hair, pulling hard. He’d always had a hard time controlling himself in anger. Anger made him say things he wished he could take back. He breathed deep to try to calm himself.

“Jamie says Claire was an Auld One, lass,” said Ian.

Jenny raised an eyebrow at Jamie, “An Auld One? A Faerie?” She laughed. “Ye dinna think yer wife was one of the Folk?”

“Aye, he does.”

Jenny shook her head, “This is madness. Ye’ve gone mad living in the cave, brother!”

Ian shrugged, “She knew about the potatoes.”

“Potatoes?! It didna take a faerie to tell us potatoes can feed the family. Even if she had some sight, it doesna mean...”

“Enough!” said Jamie. “I canna let go of Claire any more than ye could let go of each other.”

“We’d pick up and live our lives for the sake of the ones we love!”

“Ye’d move on or the sake of yer bairns! But my bairns are gone! Both of them! I didna even get to hold them.”

“Yer life isna over, Jamie.”

“Claire and the child were my life! I did my duty by them, but it doesna mean I’ll ever be rid of them.”

Jenny shook her head in exasperation, “She’s dead, Jamie. Claire and the bairns are dead. Ye have people here who love ye. Ye canna forsake this life for the sake of ghosts.”

“She’s no’ a ghost.”

“Ye say a spirit is visiting yer dreams, and ye dinna think ’tis a ghost?”

“She’d have to be dead to be a ghost. I canna believe she’s dead! It would’ve all been for naught if she and the bairn didna make it through.”

Jenny’s mouth dropped and Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “Make it through where, brother?”

A tear fell from Jamie’s eye as he remembered that day perfectly in his mind. “The dun.”

Jamie looked at his sister. Her eyes were full of pity and sympathy, and he knew she didn’t believe him. He knew she thought him mad. He never expected her to, and he didn’t want to deal with the questions that would come if she did.

A quiet gasp and a few “shhh” sounds had him looking up the stairs. They’d awoken the children. He just shrugged in defeat and walked out the door feeling no guilt about saddling his meddling sister with wrangling children in the middle of the night.

_______________________

He lay in his cave staring out at the stars once again. His vows to his wife were fresh on his mind. “Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I give ye my body, that we two might be one. I give ye my spirit, 'til our life shall be done.” Neither of their lives were done...and even when they would be, she’d still own his soul…

*****  
He was sitting under the tree outside the church where they wed. He sighed in great relief for being nowhere near Culloden. He sat and waited, knowing Claire would be there soon. He could feel it.

The door of the church opened, and Claire came rushing out looking for him. She was wearing her wedding dress, and dear God, it was a sight to behold...as stunning as the day they wed. He looked down to find himself in his Fraser regalia. He was glad his dreams didn’t reveal what a filthy wretch he’d become in the years since she’d gone.

She looked left and right in search of him, eyes glittering and hopeful. He sat quietly and waited for her to find him, enjoying the way anticipation lit her eyes.

Finally, she found him.

“Jamie!” She ran over and did her best to sit his lap in with all her petticoats and skirts getting in the way.

He pulled her close and held her against him. “God, ye’re beautiful, Sassenach.”

“Kiss me, Jamie. It’s been too long.”

He happily obliged.

“Where were you, mo chridhe? I was waiting for ye for three days.”

She pouted and sniffed in frustration. “I had a very sick patient. I haven’t rested much the last few days. I should think this dream will last a good long time by how tired my body was.”

Relief relaxed the muscles of his stomach. “Oh, good. I thought ye’d tired of me after the last dream.”

She cuffed him on the shoulder as though she thought he was joking. “I missed you, James Fraser.”

“Did’ye then?” he smiled. “I might ha’ missed ye, too. Ye are a bonnie wee thing to have around.” His hands ran over her massive wedding dress. “Especially in this dress.”

“Oh, this ol’ thing?” she said in an odd accent. “You know...funny I should be wearing this. I was just thinking of our wedding as I dozed off.”

“Were ye now?”

“Mmhm. I was trying to remember just what it felt like the first time we kissed...after we said our vows.”

“Is that so?” He bent his head to kiss her...gentle like their first time. “Something like that?”

“Mmmm.” She turned her head to nuzzle his chest. It always made his heart skip a few beats when she did that. It was like she was trying to burrow herself into him for the winter.

“Ye ken,” he said. “I was thinking about our vows, as well.”

“You were?”

“Aye.” He started pulling the pins out of her hair. He loved the halo her curls created around her face. “I wonder if that’s how we came to be here together. ’Tis as though we willed it so.”

Her mouth dropped. “You think maybe we can control this?”

“I dinna ken. But it’s worth a try, is it no’?”

She was gorgeous with the daylight on her fine, pearly skin. He cradled her head in his hands like he was holding the source of light itself.

“My wife.” he said the words more to himself than to her...more so to God than himself. He said the words with gratitude and awe. “My beautiful wife.”

Her eyes smiled. “My dashing husband.”

He kissed her once more, softly rubbing his lips over hers. Her mouth parted to inhale a sharp breath, and he seized the opportunity to lick gently inside. Her giggle was music to his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled so wide.

She tried moving in his arms, but the dress was in her way. Growling in frustration, she asked, “Help me with my laces. It’s heavier than I remember.”

He looked around to make sure there was no one spying on their dream before assisting her to her feet. His paranoia was only habit. He knew their dreams were a sanctuary.

He looked her over once more before doing as she asked. Undressing his wife was one of his favorite husbandly duties. He’d never gotten used to it, never took it for granted. Every layer removed was a delight. Every layer brought him closer to the woman underneath.

Claire sighed with relief every time a new piece of fabric hit the floor. At last, her shift was all that was left. He pulled it off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She stood naked and glorious in the sunshine. Her pale skin stunned his eyes and made his heart stutter. “God, Claire, don’t ever let me wake.”

His thrumming heart momentarily distracted him from all the other needs of his body. But when she pressed herself against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, he was very aware of the aching cockstand under his kilt. By the way she wriggled against him, he was certain she felt it, too. He grabbed handfuls of her fat, round arse and said a prayer of gratitude to God for giving him a full-bottomed woman.

She pulled at his clothes, getting them off with far less ceremony her own. “Jamie…I need you.”

Her words were music to his ears. It had been so long since he was needed by anyone...for anything. But to be needed by his wife stirred something deep in his soul that had long been dormant.

“I’ve been dead for so long, mo nighean donn, but ye fill my body with life.”

Her eyes glistened with moisture, “Do you think it’s any different for me? I’ve been a wraith without you, living only for my work and for our child.”

“Aye...but now we can live for our dreams, as well.”

He kissed her deep and held their naked bodies together. Greedy hands absorbed the feel of their mate’s skin. They swayed in the sunshine to a rhythm of their own making.

The cool grass underfoot was long, soft, and moist, and using his flannel as a cover, it made a soft, organic bed. Claire was too eager to lie still. She rolled on top of him, straddling his hips and lifting up on her knees to guide his cock home.

“Ooohhh!” she yelled, as her arse thumped down. Her quim was hot and wet, squeezing him so tight. When she pulled back, he could feel the cool breeze kiss his wet cock. Then she rolled her hips forward, and he was covered in her wet heat once more.

Her every move squeezed his heart. Her wild hair bounced around nearly as much as her breasts. As eager as he was, he couldn’t figure out where to put his hands to most effectively sate his hunger. Her arse? Her breast? Her face? He squeezed and massaged and hoarded every bit of her, much like he did when they first wed.

Jamie restrained himself with all his might when Claire found the height of her pleasure. He watched her eyes lose themselves in a blur, and he listened to the sounds she made, simultaneously angelic and animalistic, like a pagan goddess in the throes of a sacred ritual.

He knew from hearing men talk that most had no clue what it meant to pleasure a woman. But there was no greater joy in life than giving his wife the same ecstasy of body and mind that she gave him.

He didn’t know enough about other women to make generalizations about what the act meant to the fairer sex. His limited observations told him it could be anything: a business transaction, procreation, seductive influence, marital duty, intimacy, or self-preservation. Perhaps some found pleasure and enjoyment from it like men. Perhaps some even used it for power as men did. 

There were many things he didn’t know, but one thing he did know with certainty, was that Claire was not like most women. She seemed to need the act for that same indescribable reason he did...for some need to connect each other’s souls through their bodies.

Weak-muscled and short of breath, she lay flat over him. Her small body covered only a wee bit of his, so when the first raindrops fell, he felt them right along with her.

“Should we go inside the church?” she asked.

“While our love-making is certainly a sacrament, Sassenach, I’m no sure my performance for ye will be adequate with a statue of the Holy Virgin watching over us.”

Her body bounced on top of him in a fit of giggles. He listened to the sounds of her laughter with delight. Jamie could recreate the sounds of dozens of birds and animals in the wild, but never could he recreate such a one so magical.

“Where should we go? The inn?”

“Aye.” He helped her up and wrapped them in his plaid to protect from the rain that was starting to fall with purpose. They left their clothes behind, certain they wouldn’t need them—they could probably just dream more up whenever they wanted.

The inn was a short walk away. They bypassed the bottom floor and went straight to their room. It looked just as it did on their wedding night. Soft furs covered the bed, a warm fire blazed on the hearth, and whisky and food waited for them on the table.

He felt Claire relax back into him as she looked over the room. He squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her wet hair. The moisture brought out her natural, inviting scent. He inhaled deep to commit it to memory for the long day ahead without her.

“You were so good to me on our wedding day,” she said. “Dougal really selected me a most excellent husband.”

“Ye dinna think I would ha’ let ye marry anyone else, Sassenach? No matter Dougal’s plans.”

She turned in his arms to look up with smiling eyes. “Fond of me, were you?”

“Aye.” He kissed her softly. An image began forming in his mind. “I ken where we’ll be meeting tomorrow.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Leoch.”

That surprised her. “Why on Earth would you want to go there?”

He laughed, “I expect we’ll spend a few days there. I mean to have ye about the castle in all manner of places I fantasized making love to ye...starting with the floor near the fire where ye patched me up that first night.”

The thought of her sitting on his lap by the fire while cradled in his arms had his cockstand back, pressing hard against her belly. The corner of her mouth lifted—the seductive little vixen knew exactly what she did to him.

That look didn’t leave her face as she backed away from him. Her naked body was full of gooseflesh despite the warmth of the room. She put one foot behind the other until she reached the bed.

“And are there any fantasies about our wedding night you’d like to play out?” she asked. “I mean,” she looked at the bed behind her, “we never did it quite like you imagined...not that night, at least.” She turned around and looked at him over her shoulder, “Would you like to try it the back way?”

Though she laughed, it wasn’t in teasing...the sound was pure seduction. She crawled on the bed and lowered her breast to the soft furs, leaving her arse perched high and her back arched low.

“O Dhia,” he murmured. His plaid fell to the floor as he walked to his wife as she lifted her bottom, showcasing the focus of his filthiest dreams. Two thick, round mounds of pale flesh, begging to be thrashed, were split down the center by the loveliest line, leading right to the center of his pleasure. Her legs spread wide with just enough space for him to fit between. He was damn tempted to put his face right there to teach her a lesson.

His steps took him slowly around to the side, observing her in profile. The view was magnificent, for it held her face gazing at him with her playful, hooded eyes.

He stroked his cock so she could watch as he edged closer to the bed. He ran his other hand over the soft, pliant flesh of her arse, down the arch of her back. She purred as his hand came to rest in her unruly hair. He grabbed a handful, pulling tight enough to make her suck in a breath. He held her firm as she watched him stroke his cock.

“Ye ken just what that fine, fat arse does to me, Sassenach. Yet ye tease me with it anyway?”

“Tease you?” she said through heavy breaths. Her seductive smile was completely gone. “It’s hardly teasing when I offer myself to you freely.”

“Shall I use you as I will?”

“God, yes.”

He chuckled darkly. Then, he abruptly let go of her hair, raised his hand back, and belted her on the arse.

“Agh!” she yelled. For all her noise and grumbling protest at the wee swat, she was squirming like a fish on a line, begging to be eaten for dinner. A red print of his hand rose up on her skin.

“God, that’s beautiful,” he groaned, running his hand over the welt.

“Jamie!” she bit out. He spoke to her in soothing Gaelic, knowing she liked it rough as much as he did—she taught him that in this very bed, for Christ’s sake—and her objections to his behavior were only that she was mad with lust and demanding to be sated.

He moved behind her, grasping her arse in both hands. He squeezed and kneaded the flesh. Nothing felt like his wife’s arse. Nothing else on God’s green Earth felt quite so perfect...soft, malleable, sturdy, and warm.

He moved his hands up the narrow of her hips to her tiny waist. Her ribs were so fragile, he could break them with an enthusiastic embrace. She pressed back against his thighs, his cock resting on top of the crack of her arse. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hard in all his life.

Running out of patience to savor the moment, he gripped her hips tight, appreciating how her fat spread into the gaps between his fingers where he pressed down. He pulled his cock back, as though lining up a bow and arrow. Notching his cock at the entrance to her quim, he released.

“Ifrinn!” he growled. Claire yelled out, and her hot quim squeezed his cock. She gripped him like she’d never let him go. But he pulled himself back and pushed in again. His pelvis slapped hard against her arse, and she grunted with every thrust.

He put a finger in his mouth, getting it nice and slick. He dropped it down to her arse, and the wee puckered hole squeezed tight and flared open with every press of his hips. She let out a wailing, “Oh God!” when he pushed his finger inside. He got it into the second knuckle, but couldn’t push farther or he’d lose his rhythm.

“Jamie!” she moaned. He could feel how wild it made her. He could see her hands gripping the fur with all her might. But it was nothing to what it was doing to him.

“Please, Jamie...please,” she whimpered.

“Aye, mo nighean donn. I’ll care for ye.” He reached around her hips with his free hand and rubbed her in that spot she liked so well. Almost instantly, she erupted all around him. His cock and his finger were compacted by the formidable muscle deep inside the woman.

Her climax went on and on, so on and on he moved in her...until, finally, she collapsed in his arms. He removed his fingers and gripped her hips, holding her wobbly arse upright so he could take what he needed.

He hammered in hard and fast, his eyes on her sweaty skin, blotched red and white with exertion. His guts tightened up as his cock moved fast and shallow. His balls rose up and squeezed their seed, shooting it down his cock. He expelled a uncontainable roar of release as he emptied himself into her womb.

He blacked out as euphoria swept over him. All he could feel was his cock and the heaven it lay in. He let himself drift away on that cloud of pleasure, content to let the rest of his life pass by, if only he could live there forever.

When he came to, he was lying on top of Claire. His head was heavy on her back, and his arms were wrapped tight around her. Her body was as wasted as his.

“Well, was it how you imagined it would be?” she asked.

He laughed hard, rolling off her in fear he’d smother her. She found her way into the crook of his arm. “No, Sassenach. I had little frame of reference for the act before we wed, and I certainly hadna the imagination for such a thing as we just did.”

She grinned up at him in that loving way of hers that seemed as though she might break out into a fit of joyful laughter at any moment. “I love you, James Fraser.”

“And I love ye, mo chridhe...if that’s even sufficient enough a word for what I feel for ye.”

Her hand traced over his chest and played absent-mindedly with his hair. “Do you really think we can meet again tomorrow?”

“I dinna see why not. I ken it will help me get through the day knowing ye’ll be waiting there at the end of it.”

Her eyes stared into his with an aching longing. “I wish this were real, Jamie. I wish with everything in my heart that lying here, making love to you, was real.”

“Of course, it’s real, Sassenach. What makes ye think it’s not?”

“This is a dream; we both know that.”

“Aye, ’tis a dream, but who’s to say a dream is any less real than waking?”

“So it’s real even though it’s happening all in my head? No one else can witness the truth of this dream’s existence.”

“What’s more real, Sassenach? Picking a rose or falling in love? Just because ye can’t see a feeling doesna mean it’s no there.”

“But feelings are chemicals flooding through our brains. You can see them...measure them.”

“And can ye no do the same wi’ dreams?”

“I suppose you could.”

“I could live the rest of my life wi’ great ease knowing I’ll be having ye in my bed every night, mo nighean donn, dream or no’. Could ye no’ do the same?”

“I don’t know, Jamie. My waking heart still aches for you. I miss being able to share my troubles with you. To have you fully understand. How could we do that in a dream?”

“I dinna ken. But it’s better than the emptiness of the last five years.”

Her eyes were troubled, but she kissed his chest and embraced him firmly. “Yes. It’s far better than being completely without you. I suppose it will have to do. At least here I can forget for a little while how gone you really are.”  
*****

“Claire?”

“Yes?” I said, trying not to sound irritated with innocent bystanders who were unwittingly making me late for my date with my husband.

“Could you sign this order before you take your break?”

“Of course.” I took the pen from the nurse’s hand and scratched my John Hancock. “Is there anything else? I’d rather not be woken if it’s not an emergency.” I only had about three hours before I had to check on my patient.

“The family of Mr. Riordan wanted to speak with you when you got a chance. And there were a couple of men asking for you at the nurses’ station.”

“I already spoke with Mr. Riordan’s family, and if anyone is looking for me, they can wait,” I checked my watch, “two hours and fifty-eight minutes...unless it’s an emergency, of course.”

“Of course.”

I found the patient’s room that was converted into a physician’s break room where doctors frequently came to steal a few hours of sleep whenever possible. I wasted no time lying down and closing my eyes. I focused all my thoughts on Jamie and Leoch and the fireplace…

  
  


*****  
There he was...sitting on the stool, waiting for me. I bounded over and sat on his lap, my spirits much higher than the last time we were there.

“It worked,” I said. “I guess this means we can meet whenever we like?”

“Aye,” he answered with a joyful smile. “There’s the two of us now, Sassenach.”

Whatever fantasies he wanted to play out in the castle, they were truly nothing in comparison to just being with him, no matter where, no matter how. Even in a dream.

“Kiss me, soldier. I don’t have long.”  
*****

*****  
Night after night we met in our dreams. Leoch was a favorite of his, and though I’d rather be at Lallybroch, I gladly indulged him. He had the youthful energy of when we first wed as we went from room to room, christening the castle with our bodies. We made love at the stables where we had our first picnic, and in Collum’s study surrounded by books and birds, on the roof, in the forest, and in my old surgery...although, he refused to go to the Black Kirk.

Day after day, I longed for the evenings when we’d meet up again. Sometimes, the longing made the hours tick by slower, dragging out my waking existence. Other times, the excitement for what was waiting for me after I closed my eyes made the day fly by, and I was in my bed falling asleep without remembering anything that happened while it was light.

The dreams started becoming more real than reality. When I told Jamie this once, he said, “Ye’re the only real thing in my life, mo nighean donn. I wouldna trade a night with ye for all the days of existence.”

On our last night at Leoch, I’d just pulled my mouth off Jamie’s cock and wiped his dripping semen from my chin. He was sitting in Collum’s chair in the dining hall relaxed and spent. I rested my head on his thigh as I caught my breath. His hand dropped down and started combing through my hair.

“I feel like a foolish bairn having my way with the castle while the MacKenzie’s away,” he said.

I grinned, “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Aye, I suppose. In part.”

I kissed his leg, and he shivered, still sensitive from orgasm. He reached down and lifted me onto his lap. He found a glass of Collum’s finest Rhenish and took a deep drink before handing it to me. I’d forgotten how delicious the private stock was, especially mixed with the fresh taste of Jamie.

“D’ye think we can go anywhere, Claire? Outside of Scotland mebbe?

“We could try. Where would you like to go?”

He looked somber a moment, then shrugged. “Och, no place in particular. Just curious, is all.”

“Why don’t we try somewhere we’ve been before? Paris? We could both imagine that well enough.”

He nodded. “Aye, we could. Where to? Our bedroom at Jared’s?”

“Alright. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll meet the next night at Lallybroch.”

“Aye. It’s a date, then, ma charmante femme et mon coeur.”

*****

*****  
Our arrival in Paris didn’t quite go as planned. Jamie was waiting for me, dressed in his fine Parisian silk. His hair was long, plated back, and tied in a blue ribbon. He was beautiful...and my heart instantly broke.

In the throes of our dream-hazed passion, we’d forgotten what Paris meant to us. We’d forgotten why we left.

His face fell when he saw the look in my eyes, and before my first tear fell, he gathered me in his arms and brought me to the ornate sofa, holding me as memories of Faith and Louis and Jack Randall flooded through me.

“I’m so sorry, Claire. I should ha’ known. I wasna thinking clearly bringing ye here.”

“It’s my own fault,” I said through the tears. “It’s just...when I lost you...nothing else hurt quite so much anymore. But being here...it’s all come flooding back.”

He murmured soothing words as he stroked my hair and kissed my temple.

“Ye ken, Claire. Sometimes, like now, as I watch yer suffering, I think ye might be as real as I am. That ye’re truly meeting me here in a shared dream.”

I sniffed. “And sometimes, Jamie, when you say things like that, I think you might be as real as I am, and that you’re not a figment of my imagination that I created to deal with your death at Culloden.”

“I told ye, I didna die at Culloden.” He looked at me earnestly. “The wee sassenach, Grey, ye remember him? He tried to slit my throat at Carryarick?”

I nodded. It wasn’t a moment I would ever forget.

“His brother was rounding up survivors after the battle. He spared me as I did his younger brother. He sent me back to Lallybroch where Jenny mended my wounds.”

I smiled. It was a nice, consoling thought, but one my subconscious was perfectly capable of creating to ease my troubled heart.

“And you, Sassenach? If ye’re no’ really a dream...what became of ye when ye went through the stones?”

“Well, I’m a doctor now...I mean, I will be in a few days when I graduate from medical school.” 

He scoffed. “Ye were always a doctor.”

I nuzzled into him, accepting his comfort in a way I couldn’t the last time we were here. For the first time, it helped to know that we weren’t in a real place...that this was only a dream. It separated me ever so slightly from the pain Paris brought to my heart.

The silence of the large, empty house was broken by a quiet cry echoing through the room. The cry of a child.

“I can hear her,” Jamie said. “I can hear an echo of Faith.”

“So can I.” I squeezed Jamie tighter and let my tears ruin his expensive silk.

We both listened to the distant echoes of the wails.

“Is that how she sounded to ye, Sassenach? Was her cry just so?”

My heart tied in knots, and the tears fell harder. “No, Jamie. She was gone before she took her first breath. She never got the chance to cry.”

He kissed me softly, and we both listened on.

Then, I realized...I recognized the sound of the cry...It wasn’t Faith.

Brianna. And not an infant Brianna.

It got louder and louder...I could feel it pulling me away.

“Jamie...I think I’m waking up.”

He held me tighter and said, “Lallybroch tonight, then, lass?”

A thought came to mind. I didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth a try. “No. Not Lallybroch. Craigh Na Dun. Jamie, meet me tonight at the stones!”

“In our dreams?” he asked.

“Yes…”  
*****

I was pulled away before I had a chance to explain. I opened my eyes to find Frank coming into our bedroom with a crying Brianna in his arms.

“She had a nightmare,” he said, handing her over to me.

She curled her little body into mine as I squeezed her tight. “Oh, darling. It’s alright. Mama’s here. It was only a dream.” Though I knew better than anyone how real dreams could be.

I held her in my arms, and Frank stroked her hair until she fell back asleep. We left her in bed with us in case she slipped back into her nightmare and awoke again in fear.

I tried not to let resentment build that it was Frank soothing Jamie’s daughter. I had to remind myself that this was my choice. That this was Jamie’s choice. It was all to keep her healthy and safe.

I tried to be grateful to Frank, but fresh out of Jamie’s loving embrace, I just couldn’t.

I prayed to find a way to give Jamie a piece of his daughter.


	4. Through the Stones

Through the Stones  
___________________

_Would it work?_

It was all I could think of the whole day. And when I arrived home late from the hospital, the only thing I’d planned on doing was disrobing, brushing my teeth, getting into bed, and meeting Jamie at the stones.

What I wasn’t expecting was for Brianna to still be awake and playing with her dolls in the living room.

“Mama!” She ran up and gave me one of her enormous bear hugs. I gripped her firmly back, careful not to squeeze the air out of her. My little girl was getting so strong. I wondered how quickly the tables would turn and Brianna would be the one who had to be careful with me.

“How was your day, darling?”

“Great!”

“And where is Daddy?”

She pointed to Frank’s study. I meandered over and peered in. Frank was reading over some documents and taking scrupulous notes as he went along.

“Hullo,” I said.

He jumped at the sound of my voice, “Claire! Oh, hello. Dear, God, is that the time?”

“Got a little caught up?”

“Yes,” he cringed. “I’m afraid I’ve been quite useless and haven’t helped Brianna brush her teeth or ready herself for bed.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” I peered at the documents he was holding. “Must be pretty enthralling.” He wasn’t one to let work come before Brianna.

He shrugged. “Just some letters and stories of people long dead.”

“Well, you are an historian. You’ll be up late, then?”

“Likely so.” He put his head back down to his work and read on.

There was a time long ago when I could hardly be in the same room as Frank without touching or kissing him. Now, all I could do was stand at the door and say, “Goodnight.”

He didn’t look up. “Night.”

I did my best to be present with Bree as I got her ready for bed. Her father was already 200 years and a few thousand miles away, and the last thing the child needed was a mother whose mind was just as far gone. So, my hopes for seeing Jamie were temporarily on hold as I cared for the little person we created together. But as soon as she lay with her eyes closed, and her breath slowed and steadied, my mind focused with all it’s might on her father and on meeting him at the stones.

When I crawled under the blankets, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to come. Of course, my eagerness wouldn’t let me relax enough to drift into unconsciousness. It was just too difficult to think of Jamie without my heart fluttering and arousing me to complete wakefulness. I was fearful of counting sheep, otherwise I might end up in a meadow somewhere surrounded by a flock.

I considered using sleep medication or a glass of whisky to relax me, but was afraid it would impair my focus and send me to the sixteenth century, or worse, to Laoghaire MacKenzie’s parlor for afternoon tea.

I settled on imagining myself at Craigh Na Dun, counting stones with Jamie. I lost track of how many I’d counted during the seventh time around the circle, and little fairies began flying about, shouting random numbers to throw me off.

I shook my head and cleared the silliness away.

 _Jamie. Just focus on Jamie waiting for me at the stones_...

*****  
It was the strangest sight I’d ever seen. It was fundamentally incompatible with reality. As much as I obsessed over the idea throughout the day, I would have thought my mind could wrap itself around the image before me, but it refused to accept what it saw.

“So, this is where ye live, Sassenach?” Jamie said as he looked around the room. His face was inscrutable, but I could see his fingers tapping on his leg—his telltale sign of tension.

Funny, he called _me_ Sassenach, but he was the Outlander in 1953 Boston. He still wore his white, linen shirt and Fraser plaid. If Jamie wasn’t such a formidable looking man, it would almost be comical to see him standing in my living room dressed like that.

I had met him at the stones just the way we planned. He nearly fell back in shock when he took in my appearance. I looked down and noticed I was wearing a navy blue, flutter-sleeved, flared dress, straight from Filene’s Department Store in Boston 1953.

“Christ, Sassenach! And how long are ye expected to stay upright in those stilts?”

“Pardon?” I looked down at my modest pumps with a delicate, yet comfortable, ankle strap. It wasn’t as though I was wearing my opera pumps.

“What have ye done to yer lovely curls, woman?” He stepped close and ran his fingers through my hair. Then his hand stroked my cheek, “And you’ve painted yer face like ye’re headed to Versailles.”

“This is normal for my time.” I hadn’t intended to come dressed as such. It just unconsciously happened.

He stepped back and looked me over, again. His brow was narrowed in appalled frustration, but I could see by the tilt of his head and the twitch of mouth that he appreciated the aesthetic on a physical level, if not on principle.

“Ye look as much a Sassenach as the day ye fell through these stones and started yankin’ my arm into place.”

I shrugged in feigned indifference and twirled around, hoping he’d appreciate the fit of the dress. “You seemed to like it just fine then.”

“Oh, aye. Could ye blame me? Ye were as good as wearing a wet shift, and yer great, fat arse was wedged tight between my bouncing thighs for days. And I a lad of three and twenty, no less! I dinna think ye ever thanked me for my restraint on that long ride.”

“Restraint? You had a lame arm and could hardly sit upright. I’d hardly call that restraint. You couldn’t have done anything to me if you tried.”

He grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. He spoke with a deep, low rumble in my ear, “Ye underestimate the heat of the blaze ye lit in me, Sassenach.”

I bit my lip and rubbed against that blazing flame between his thighs.

“Jesus, woman, ye’re freezing dressed indecent as ye are!” He pulled up the back of his plaid and wrapped it around my shoulders. “What the devil do ye mean by having us meet here in this God forsaken place?”

I reached my cold hands under his shirt to touch his warm skin. He flinched and shivered, but let me absorb his warmth.

“I want to try to bring you with me...to 1953.”

His body stilled, and his face went blank. “Why?” The word was almost accusing.

“I want to tell you about our child. I want you to see how we live...what our sacrifice was for. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that keeps me going. I thought it might give you comfort knowing we’re ok...seeing things for yourself.”

He nodded his wary consent. “It may no’ work,” he said, almost hopeful.

“Then we’ll go find that cottage and spend the day making love.”

I believed it would work, though. I grabbed his hand tight in mine. “Think of our child,” I said and pulled him through the stones, aiming for my home in Boston. When we arrived in my living room, I began to realize the limitations to our dreams were created only by the boundaries our minds placed on them.

“’Tis quite grand,” he said. “This is the life a doctor and an historian can provide in yer time?”

I smiled, “I’m not a doctor quite yet. Frank supports us as it is. I’ll earn a living soon enough.”

“Hmphm. Frank.” He pronounced the name in a mocking Scottish tone.

He walked around the room, looking at our china cabinet and flipping through books scattered here and there. I cringed when he picked up a book Frank authored, muscles twitching in his jaw as he set it back down. I tried distracting him by pointing out the television and radio, but nothing happened when I turned them on.

He grabbed my hands, fumbling at the dials, and held them tight in his. “Tell me about the bairn, Sassenach.”

“Alright.” I took a deep breath, surprised by how excited I was at the prospect of telling this dream Jamie of his daughter. Perhaps it was his spirit coming to visit me, and I really was showing him something he needed to see. But more likely, this was just a fantasy I wanted fulfilled so my heart could have peace. “Come.”

I led him to the sofa and had him sit. There was a recent picture of Brianna on the mantle, so I retrieved it and sat next to him. I clutched the frame to my chest protectively, excited and terrified to show him. He was looking at the frame like it was a time bomb ready to go off. Perhaps it was.

“Here, Jamie. This is our child. Your daughter.” I handed him the picture—a professional portrait of Brianna sitting in a small wicker chair, holding her favorite doll (she’d refused to let it go), and smiling brightly at the camera. The black and white image captured her joy perfectly.

“Daughter? I have a daughter?”

He stared on and on at the picture. As the moments passed, moisture filled his eyes. I reached up to wipe away tears as they began to fall one by one. Soon, there were so many, I couldn’t keep up. The weight of him hit me hard as he dropped to my shoulder, his body shaking with sobs.

Jamie was so much better at this sort of comfort than me. I hadn’t his deep, soothing tones nor his mastery of Gaelic—the language seemed created to speak directly to the heart. All I could do was shed my own tears alongside him and stroke his broad back and disheveled hair.

When he pulled away, he lifted her picture again and smiled the saddest smile I’d ever seen.

“What did’ye name her?”

“I did as you asked. I named her for your father...and also...your mother.”

He finally looked up from her picture with a raised eyebrow. A little girl named Brian probably shocked his Scottish sensibilities.

“Brianna...Brianna Ellen.”

His brow didn’t soften until he mulled the name over in his head. When he said the name with his thick Scottish tongue, a smile overtook his eyes. “Bree-anna Ellen Fraser.”

I didn’t correct him; it didn’t matter that Randall was her legal name. She was born a Fraser, and a Fraser she’d always be.

“I see there isna any grass growing ’round the dwellings in this city. Where does she play?”

“She goes to a school during the day where there’s equipment built solely for the purpose of play. They call it a playground. We have a park just down the street...she plays there. She has the run of the house, for the most part.”

He laughed and sniffed away his runny nose, “Aye, I bet she does.”

“Her room is filled with toys...too many, really. Probably a little spoiled by Scottish standards.”

He chuckled, “May I see it? Her room?”

“Of course.” I took his hand, and he followed me upstairs. Brianna’s room was down the hall from mine and Frank’s. I noticed his appreciation for the doorways being tall enough so he didn’t have to duck his head as he walked through.

The walls in her room were painted a soft green, and the furniture inside was antique, inherited from Frank’s family.

“Oh, dear God!” I said when I noticed a small, motionless form in Brianna's bed. I nearly fell over.

“Sassenach?” Jamie grabbed my arm, steadying me. I heard his intake of breath when he saw the sleeping red-haired child in her bed. “O Dhia!”

“How is she here?” My voice shook as I looked to Jamie. “No one’s ever in our dreams.”

Jamie stepped slowly toward his daughter, as though she might disappear if he moved too quickly. His mouth was parted in shock and awe. “Is she real?”

He sat on the edge of her bed and made to touch her, but hesitated. His eyes flashed to mine, looking for reassurance. I moved around to the other side of the bed and sat mirroring him just in case she woke (C _ould one be awoken inside a dream?_ ).

“Go on,” I urged.

He held his breath as he reached out a hand, and light as a feather, touched her cheek. The air rushed out of his mouth in a stuttering breath. “She’s got the look of the Mackenzies.” He smiled. “Like my Ma.”

“She has your eyes. Color. Shape. Expression. And your stubbornness. And she’s so patient and easygoing until you cross her enough. Then, she’ll show you a fierce temper.” I laughed, “She looks just like you went she’s throwing a rare tantrum.”

Jamie poorly hid his smile of paternal pride. “I do _not_ throw tantrums.”

“She would say the same thing.”

He leaned over her and spoke soft and low in Gaelic. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to her or praying over her, but the effect it had on Brianna was unmistakable. A smile graced her sleeping face.

“Jesus,” he laughed, tracing the line of her jaw. “Like ye say I do.”

“Yes.” I mirrored the touch on his face. “She’s so like you.”

“Aye.” His grin was contagious. “I see.”

He stroked her hair and murmured, “My daughter.”

I was moved to tears. “Yes, Jamie. Yours. Ours.”

He leaned over and kissed me. “Ours.”

The look of gratitude in his gaze as he pulled away tugged at the most vulnerable strings of my heart. “My soul is yours, mo nighean donn...always has been. Ye owned me from the day we wed. I would spend eternity serving ye, and it would never be enough to repay this gift ye’ve given me.”

He looked back down at our daughter, “Brianna.”

At the sound of her name, Brianna’s eyelids fluttered open. I heard Jamie’s intake of breath, and I was certain it was the shock of seeing a set of small, feminine blue eyes, identical to his own, looking back at him. Hers went wide at the stranger sitting on her bed.

“It’s alright, a leannan. Yer safe, aye?” he cooed.

“It alright, Bree,” I said. Her eyes flashed to me, and I gave her a reassuring smile. “This...this man is…”

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I wasn’t prepared for this. What could I tell her that wouldn’t break my promise to Frank and still be fair to Jamie? Then again, was this just more of my Unconscious running wild with wish fulfillment and none of it even mattered? Or was Bree here just as surely as I was?

“Yer mother brought me here to be sure ye’re safe and protected in yer dreams, m’annsachd. I’ll be fighting off yer nightmares for ye, aye?”

She looked at me, and I confirmed with a nod.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“My name is James. But ye can call me Da if ye like. That’s what the Scots call the guardians of their dreams.”

“Da,” she tried it on. “I’m Bree.”

“It’s a great pleasure to meet ye, Bree. If ye ever need me, just close yer eyes and call for me, aye? Everything will be alright.”

She nodded. Not for the first time, Jamie surprised me with just how comforting his presence was, be it as a friend, a spouse, a chief, or a father. His massive size should have been terrifying to the little girl, but with a few words, it was a source of reassurance that her dream guardian was so big and strong. He caressed her face and smiled sweetly down on her.

In no time, at all, Brianna drifted off to sleep once again.

“You’re wonderful with her, Jamie.”

He looked up to me grinning, “I hadna expected such a gift, mo nighean donn. I take it ye didna know she’d be here either?”

“No, I never imagined you’d get to meet her…”

We looked down again, and she was gone. Jamie’s hand moved to the empty space in the bed where Brianna was lying only a moment ago. His mouth twitched from frown to smile and back to frown in a space of a breath. “’Tis still warm.”

“I wonder how she got here,” I said.

Jamie shrugged, “Mebbe...perhaps she needed us as badly as we did her for that little bit.”

“I wish with all my heart that she could know you as her father.”

“Aye, mo nighean donn. But she is alive and well and safe, and I canna ask for more than that.”

I leaned forward and softly kissed his lips, once again alone in our sacred dream world together.

And suddenly, a realization came over me: we were two souls truly alone in the world...not just in our dreams. No other person could understand our loss, no one knew the depth of our love, no one could possibly comprehend the phenomenological truth of our experience.

This realization could have been devastating. The isolation could have been crushing, separated by two hundred years from the only soul in history to truly _know_ the other...but it wasn’t. Not with him there in our daughter’s room. Our dreams had allowed us to share the burden of loss and loneliness, and once shared, we were isolated no more.

Our foreheads met and rested against each other, relieving the strain of isolation with the only possible remedy: connection.

After some time, Jamie pulled away. He wiped his face on his sleeve and took a deep breath. He began asking questions about Brianna. As we talked, he moseyed around the room and inspected her clothes and toys. He wanted to know her first words, how well she slept, and if she had any friends. He wanted to know if she was learning any other languages and what was taught at school. Did she get out into the wilderness? Did she ever see any animals? Had she ever ridden a horse? He asked and asked and kept asking, and he didn’t stop until the dread of the morning began edging closer.

He came to me and held out a hand. “Come, Sassenach. I think I’ve grown a wee bit weary. Take me to yer bed. I must have ye once before dawn takes ye from me again.”

I hesitated only a moment. It felt wrong bringing Jamie into my marital bed with Frank. Then again, Frank and I had never made love in that bed. It was only a place for us to sleep. Although, there _was_ intimacy in sleeping next to someone for five years. Someone I once loved dearly, who I’d shared my body with long ago. Someone with whom I was raising a child.

Jamie noticed my hesitation, as slight as it was. “Hmphm.” He was undeterred.

Despite my discomfort, I brought Jamie to my room. One reason I agreed to do so was that he’d been there the last five years anyway. He’d been lying between Frank and I since the moment I came back through the stones. The other was that Jamie had a determined look in his eyes that brooked no objections. He would have me, and it would be in Frank’s bed.

“Take off that rigging,” he commanded in his laird’s tone. I got the distinct feeling he was very much done with 1953. He was eager to get back to his own time and have me there with him. But with so few minutes left until dawn, he was making do with what we had.

He stared at me as I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I heard his unintended grumble of appreciation at my brassiere and panty set. I came closer to show him the fifties weren’t so terribly bad. He sighed heavily as his hands moved over my mostly naked body. I kissed him lightly, hoping it would soften the tension coursing through him.

It didn’t. He grumbled as he tried to work off my brassiere, and rather than deal with it any longer, he grabbed each side of the clasp and ripped it apart. He slid my panties down and pulled off my stockings one by one. 

“Get in bed, Sassenach.”

With his level of agitation so high, I promptly did as he asked. Some semblance of control over this situation was a small gift I could give him. He looked around the room as he shed his own clothes. I noticed he left them strewn about as though dismissing the man who owned the room.

“It’s just a dream, Jamie. We’re not really here,” I tried to comfort him.

“Hmphm. After what just happened with Brianna, ye canna convince me this is just a dream, Claire.”

He sat on the side of the bed...Frank’s side. A picture of Frank and I on our wedding day was framed on the nightstand. Jamie picked it up and inspected the image.

“Ye’re hardly more than a bairn in this portrait.” He spoke quietly, and I could hear the hurt in his voice, seeing me with another man. He touched the picture as though caressing my face. “Ye were right. He looks verra much like _him_.”

Frank was never someone I wanted to bring into bed with Jamie...but Black Jack Randall was far worse.

“Jamie…”

He placed the picture back on the nightstand, making it face directly toward the bed. At first, I thought he was being masochistic in seeing Frank/Jack’s face as he made love to me, but as he pulled the blanket away and made a show of taking me forcibly, I quickly caught on that Jamie wanted Frank to watch while he had me in his bed.

“Ye’re mine, Sassenach. D’ye hear me?” he said as he took me. “Mine! You and the bairn are MINE.”

“Yours,” I said. It was difficult not to get caught up in Jamie’s rough possession. I dearly loved making love to Jamie with all his strength and obsessive attention, but only when it was about him and me...not when there was anyone between us.

He rammed into me hard and squeezed my arse, “Let me year ye, Sassenach. Let _him_ hear ye scream my name.”

I rose up and put my arms around his neck. “Jamie,” I whispered, then kissed him softly. “I’m yours, Jamie. He knows I’m yours.” I kissed him again. “I know it.” Another kiss. “You know it.” And another.

He held my face in his hands as tears fell down his cheeks, “Ye’re _my_ wife, Claire. Yet ye sleep with another.”

“No, darling. No.” I kissed him thoroughly. “I sleep in your arms every night. It’s your hands that touch me when I close my eyes. It’s your child I carried. It’s your name on my lips when I wake every morning and again when I close my eyes.” I kissed his tears as they fell. “I’m yours in every way that matters.”

He kissed me with a shuddering breath. And when we started moving again, though his grip was no less tight around me, there was no one else in our bed. It was just me and him...the way we were meant to be.

At some point, I looked around the room, and we were back at Lallybroch. I didn’t know if it was intentional that Jamie brought us back here, or if this is just where we naturally returned. Either way, I was glad of it.

Afterward, we lay tangled up together, watching the sunrise. Jamie muttered a quiet verse from Eccliesiatstes. “One generation passeth away and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever...The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose.”

“Shall we come back here tomorrow?” I asked. I wasn’t in any hurry to bring Jamie back to the 1950s.

“Aye,” he said. “There’s something I need to show ye.”

Enveloped in his arms, he squeezed me tight, and I knew there was nothing more he’d say on the matter until we met again later that evening.

“I love you, Jamie.”

“I love ye, Claire.”  
*****

I woke to an empty bed in the morning, and I wondered briefly if Jamie had succeeded in his attempts to have Frank witness our love making and hear me cry out Jamie’s name. My curiosity was put to rest when I went downstairs and saw Frank asleep at his desk. He obviously fell asleep working, and I didn’t think he’d much appreciate the pool of drool he was letting loose all over a copy of one of his prized historical documents.

“Frank?” I said softly. I pulled the paper out from under him, trying my best to be minimally disruptive to his sleeping state. A little finagling later, and the document sprang free only a little worse for the wear at one of the edges, thanks to his spittle.

My heart thundered in my chest when I recognized the document. I’d signed it five years before—or two hundred, depending on how you looked at it. The deed of sasine transferring Lallybroch to young Jamie. And there was Jamie’s signature...James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.

I looked around Frank’s desk and found a few more surprises. There was an article about me being taken by the faeries during my disappearance. There was a copy of an old letter written in a young girl’s hand...her name was Kitty, and she was writing to her friend Joan. She chattered on about how her Auntie Claire was a faerie, and she had gone away to hide in a dun after Culloden.

“Frank!” I demanded, far less concerned about waking him up now. “Frank!” I pushed his arm when he didn’t answer.

He jumped in his seat and cleared his eyes to look at me. I saw the brief moment of fear register when he realized what I’d found. He covered the emotion in his mask of inscrutability.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He swiped it out of my hand.

“This is all about me...and the stones!”

He grumbled in a poor representation of a Scotsman.

“Why are you researching my time in Scotland?” Apparently, that was what I decided to call my time-traveling absence.

“No reason. Don’t worry about it.”

“You made me leave everything behind. You demanded no more research. You said I had to let it go! Yet, here you are, bringing my past back into this house.”

“Please, Claire, like you ever let go of it anyway.”

“Is that what this is? Bitterness? You’ve come to throw it in my face? I’ve done all I could to leave Scotland where it was...in the past.”

He huffed, “You bring Scotland into our bed every damn night. Don’t deny it.”

“What does it matter to you what happens in my dreams when you’re off doing whoever it is that you’re doing when you’re not here?!”

“At least I keep it out of this house!”

I threw the documents in his face and demanded, “Stay out of my past!”

“I’m not interested in _your_ past! I care about our daughter’s _future_!”

A quiet voice interrupted us from the door. “Mama? Daddy?”

“Bree,” said Frank. He stood up quickly, ignoring my presence, and moved to comfort our daughter. “You’re up early, darling. Did we frighten you with our yelling?”

He picked her up gingerly and patted her back. She wrapped her little arms around his neck, and he walked away. I heard his footsteps climbing up the creaking stairs as he spoke to her in soothing tones.

“Fucking bastard,” I whispered under my breath.

Why the hell would Frank need to dig through my past? What did it have to do with Brianna?

I picked up some of the papers that had fallen to the floor during our argument. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about Frank rifling through my life with Jamie. I placed the deed, that ridiculous newspaper clipping, and some silly story about an old Highland legend called “The Dunbonnet” on his desk.

I went back to my room to get ready for the day. Frank and I would be having a conversation soon. To hell with him for keeping secrets from me, and to hell with him for keeping me away from my past when he’d buried himself elbows deep in it.


	5. Life in a Cave

Life in a Cave  
___________________

I had done it. Soon, I’d be the first female graduate in the history of my program. I couldn’t wait to meet Jamie at Lallybroch to celebrate. After he showed me whatever it was he was talking about last night, I planned on conjuring some good French Champagne and an absurd collection of obscenely caloric pastries.

My musings were interrupted by a bump of Joe Abernathy’s shoulder against mine, “Where did you just go, Lady Jane? It looked like your mind was off relaxing on a sunny beach in the Caribbean.”

“Scotland, actually.”

He laughed. “I didn’t realize Scotland was known for its sunny beaches.”

“They’re usually freezing and incredibly damp. It’s more the scenery and the company I’m after, not the warmth.”

“The right kind of company brings the right kind of warmth.”

“Too right.”

We’d been sitting for nearly an hour at our practice graduation session and not listening to the speeches we’d be hearing the following day when it actually mattered.

“I can’t believe Frank’s not throwing you a party tomorrow night,” said Joe bitterly.

“I don’t want all the fuss, Joe. Most of my friends are in the program, and they’ll be at their own parties. No, I’d much rather just celebrate awhile with you, then go home and sleep early.”

Joe laughed from deep in his belly. “Only new parents and fellow med students could understand how a full night’s rest could be far more appealing than a party.”

“Ahhh, but we’re medical students no more, Joe. We’re Doctors Randall and Abernathy at your service.”

“Touche. Seriously, LJ, you’re gonna celebrate at some point, right? A trip to Scotland at the very least?”

“No. Frank doesn’t much care for Scotland. I’ll just wander around the Highlands in my daydreams...the night ones, too, if I’m lucky.”

“Oh, come now, if Frank won’t go, take Bree and make it a girl's trip. Or go on your own. You deserve this.”

“Mmm.” If only...

“What is it, Lady Jane? You holdin’ out on me?”

I shrugged in a pathetic attempt to downplay the significance of my words. “Oh, Scotland was once a special place for me...but that was a long time ago. It wouldn’t be fair to Frank to go back now.”

“Not fair to Frank? LJ!” he whispered dramatically. “You had a Scottish man, didn’t you? I would’ve never guessed plaid skirts were your thing.”

“Then you’ve never seen a genuine Highlander...especially a Highland warrior or a great chief.”

“So...are you going to tell me what happened with your great Highland warrior chief?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” I said coyly. Then added, “Really, Joe, there’s not much to say. He died a long time ago.”

“Oh, LJ, I’m sorry.”

“No need. Things happen. Now, the only time I see him is when my mind takes pity on me and manifests some sort of unconscious salve when I fall asleep at night.”

“Does he visit your dreams often?”

I nodded, “Pretty regular of late. I feel like I’ve spent more time in the Highlands than Boston the last few weeks.”

Joe visibly cringed.

“You’re not feeling sorry for me, are you?” I asked. “I’m fine, really.”

“Honey, you’re telling me you spend your days and nights pining over some long lost love, but you’re ‘fine?’”

I rolled my eyes. “When you put it like that…”

“Does Frank know how you feel about this guy?”

I gave a reluctant nod.

“Well then,” Joe sighed. “Explains a lot.”

“What does it explain?”

Joe laughed without humor, “It’s no secret you and Frank aren’t madly in love. You’ve got a face that conceals absolutely nothing.”

“So I’ve been told.” Jamie loved how easy I was to read. I could imagine it made my husband’s life much simpler to not have to ferret out my innermost thoughts and feelings.

“In all seriousness, aren’t you afraid you’re gonna to miss out on life while you’re so stuck in the past?”

“I have a very peculiar relationship with the past. I’m quite fond of being there.”

“Yeah, but Brianna and Frank are here in the present. Your work and your patients are here in the present. Would your man want you to stop engaging with your life over mere shadows of who he once was?”

His words were like a punch in the gut. “I suppose not. Though, I must say, in my dreams he’s always quite delighted to see me, and he’s very lifelike. No dark shadows, at all. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“I’ll just bet he was delighted to see you in the old days, too. What’s not to be delighted about when it comes to you?”

I bumped Joe’s shoulder in friendly acknowledgment of his teasing praise.

We sat quietly the rest of the practice session as I considered his advice. I never really had a fear of missing out on any part of my life because I was pining away for Jamie. What I did fear was letting go of my attachment to him and diminishing the intensity of the love I had for him. My love for him was my greatest source of pain, yet it was the most vital piece of my existence. I would hold onto it, cling to it, for the rest of my life.

I also feared what it would mean to open myself up to being vulnerable to someone else again—like Frank—then being disappointed because that someone couldn’t measure up to the man who loved me without limits or bounds. I couldn’t settle for less than Jamie—everyone else was less than Jamie—even if it meant closing myself off to possibility.

It certainly wasn’t fair to Frank, Joe was right about that. And tragically, I could live with that unfairness. Frank made his choice about being in this relationship with me. He had the choice to leave it whenever he wanted. My real concern was whether or not my holding onto Jamie was in some way unfair to Brianna. Was I limiting life for her? It was not as though she could just up and choose another mother.

When practice finished, Joe walked me to my car. He didn’t say a word until I sat behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. It was then that he leaned in on the edge of the open window and asked, “Was your warrior chief a red-haired man by chance?”

I chewed my lip and considered whether or not I should answer. I didn’t have to. My glass face had apparently already done so.

“I see. I just hope your secrets don’t get between you and your little girl, LJ.”

He patted my hand and walked away. If I knew Joe, he would’ve never said such a thing unless he already thought my secrets had come between me and Brianna. And the truth was, the secret of her father was between us every time I looked at her. It had always there.

Could it ever not be?

*****  
Whatever discomfort I had from my conversation with Joe, it didn’t stop me from visiting Jamie that night.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked him. My arm was tucked firmly through the crook of his elbow as he led me into the wilderness outside Lallybroch. We were comfortable in our skin once again in eighteenth century Scotland. My hair was a wild mess of curls using every breath of wind as an excuse to spring loose from it’s pins. Jamie was delighted at the return of the bum roll. It felt like home, and Joe’s warnings floated away on the cool evening breeze.

“Ye showed me yer life with Brianna. I thought it only fair to share what my life is like now...without ye.”

I thought it strange that my Dream Jamie wouldn’t be living in the Laird’s room at Lallybroch. Perhaps my Unconscious was playing one of its tricky little games with my head once again.

“As ye ken from yer history books, the Highlands are no’ the same place they were before the rebellion.”

I knew the Highland culture was crushed, the people slaughtered, and poverty and famine swept over the land.

“Weel, Lallybroch wasna spared from hardship. I canna live there as I’m a traitor to the crown, but they need help with food and such sometimes. I keep to myself, mostly, but I need to be close...just in case. There’s been a time or two that Ian was taken by the redcoats in suspicion of concealing me. If I would ha’ turned myself in, they’d punish both him and me, so I helped tend the land and family when he was gone. He’s back now, and I’ve been thinking on ways to prevent him being taken again.”

His words sounded ominous and gave me a sick feeling in my gut. “What are you planning?”

He stopped walking when we reached a large rock. Upon further inspection, it was the entrance to a cave. Jamie helped me down inside and followed after me.

It was clear at once that this is where he lived. There was a pallet of blankets, a small fire pit, and a few odds and ends lying about (bow and arrows, some extra clothes, a large bonnet, cooking supplies).

He started a fire in the little pit and said, “I canna always risk a fire, but since this is naught but a dream…”

A warm fire came to life, and Jamie led me to his pallet and sat me next to him.

“This is your life?”

“Aye. ’Tis no’ so bad. I dinna mind the solitude.”

My voice felt weak when I said, “Is this really living, Jamie? Don’t you want more for yourself?”

He chuckled, “All I want is gone, Sassenach. I only chance to see it in my dreams, aye?”

“Jamie…” I whispered.

“What else could I want? I have my wife and child safe and cared for. I get to see them when I dream. The days dinna signify when I have my nights wi’ you.”

Dear God, was this some sort of disgusting metaphor my brain came up with to convince me to move on? Seeing Jamie waste his life away in a cave, _literally_ living in a cave, rather than living his life. Is that what I was doing?

“This can’t possibly be enough for you...not for the Jamie Fraser I knew.”

“The Jamie Fraser ye kent died when he lost his wife and child, Claire. The man I am now is not him. Ye bring pieces of him back when ye come visit me, but that’s all.”

I leaned on his shoulder, hugging his arm, and felt tears forming in my eyes.

“The truth of it is that since ye’ve come visiting, I’ve begun to miss feeling useful. It’s been sae long since I’ve had purpose. I think I may ha’ found a way for my life to be worth something again.”

“Oh? How so?”

He leaned back against the cave wall and wrapped an arm around me. I tucked into his side and nuzzled his chest.

“I’m going to have Jenny turn me over to the English.”

I sat up abruptly. “What?! Go to prison?”

“Aye,” he was completely relaxed. “She’ll claim a sizable reward and take care of our people.”

“And what about you? You’ll be locked away in a cell, no trees, no sky, no heather or birds or horses, no fresh water or rain!”

“Och,” he brushed me off and waved at his cave. “Is this not a cell already? And the outdoors are hardly a loss when I can dream of making love to ye in the heather anytime I want.”

“Jamie…” I saw the set of his mouth. He was serious and his mind was made up. I knew better than to try to fight him. Stubborn Fraser. “You can’t.”

“I can and I will.” He smiled. “What’s it a bother to ye if ye think I’m naught but a dream, Sassenach?”

He did have a point there. Perhaps my Unconscious was telling me how to go live my life. That I couldn’t depend on these dreams to feel alive.

But if that was the case, what he said next made no sense at all to me.

“Dinna fash, mo ghraidh . We will always have each other. No amount of time or space can come between us. Not even the bars of a prison cell. Turning myself over will do some good for Jenny and the weans, and you and I will meet when the sun sets and rut around all over the Highlands.”

He smiled peacefully. “’Tis a good thing, Claire. I’m tired of hiding. I’ve been a wanted man for most of my grown life. I dinna care to run anymore, and I dinna have anything to run toward...” he caressed my cheek and pulled me close, “...save you. Now, kiss me, Sassenach. Lie with me in this god forsaken cave so I may wake with the feel of ye in the morning.”  
*****

I woke with a jolt at around three a.m. I was ripped from Jamie’s arms as we kissed naked by the fire, bodies spent and lazy after hours of love making. I didn’t even have time to conjure up my pre-graduation celebration I'd planned.

It was clear what woke me. I could hear Frank sweeping broken glass and dumping it into the rubbish bin. He must have dropped something...or thrown it.

I put on my robe and slippers and went downstairs to make sure all was well. I found him sitting at the kitchen table with his head bowed in his hands and a bottle of whisky on the table.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

“Hmm. I’m not sure there’s anything right or wrong about anything. It just is.”

“You’re drunk?”

He shrugged.

“Any particular reason? Or just for the fun of it?”

He met my gaze, “New reasons, old reasons, lots of reasons.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

He took a drink from the bottle before answering, “Not yet.”

“Not yet? What does that mean? You’ll need me to do something in the future?”

He grinned completely without humor, “Or the past.”

“Frank…” I wasn’t feeling up for a fight at three in the morning on the day of my graduation.

“Wait, Claire. There may be something you can do…”

“What?”

He rubbed his face in his hands. I wondered if he was so drunk that his face was numb, or if he was stalling for time as he figured out how to ask me what he wanted.

“Answer some questions for me, if you would.” He gestured to the chair in front of him.

I sat warily. I didn’t know if it was the strange formality of his request or his drunken state, but it felt like I was being led in for an interrogation rather than a conversation with my husband.

“Tell me…” he hesitated. “Tell me about _his_ family.” I knew he was referring to Jamie. Frank only ever used that specific tone when talking about my other husband. He then added as an afterthought, “Please.”

“How many generations back?”

“The ones you met. The ones you knew.”

“His uncles? His sister? Brother-in-law? Nieces and nephews? Cousins?”

“Both the uncles died when you were there, did they not?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t need to know about them. Tell me about the sister and the brother-in-law.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Jenny and Ian?”

He nodded slow and clumsy. “They loved him?”

“Of course they did. Ian was his right hand. And Jenny...well, I told you about us hunting down the redcoats who took him. She would’ve gladly given her life for him.”

He looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “They cared for you, too?”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t bother them that people thought you were a witch or fairy?”

“Of course not. They were educated people.” I recalled the letter I skimmed last night in Frank’s office. “Why are you asking these questions?”

He took another drink.

“Frank!”

“I'm concerned.”

“About what?”

“That your reputation from two hundred years ago has made you easy to find! You and Brianna!”

My heart thudded at the force of his tone. “Easy to find? Who on Earth would care to be looking for me?”

“You haven’t had anyone approach you recently? Not here? Not at the hospital?”

“People are always looking for me at the hospital.”

“Well, they were looking for you here yesterday...at our house.”

“Who?”

He pushed the bottle of whisky toward me. He waited for me to drink before he continued...I took several drinks.

“Who was it?” I demanded.

“I’m not one hundred percent sure. Some Scottish national radicalists, I think.”

“WHAT?!” I stood, pounding my hands on the table. “What in hell do they want with me?”

“Sit down, Claire...and I’ll tell you what I know about your...other family. The Frasers of Lovat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated putting this chapter and the next chapter in one together, but decided against it last minute. The next one will be posted quickly. Likely later this evening.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I really hope you are enjoying. I'm grateful for the lovely, motivational comments, from simple words to thorough reviews, they're all much appreciated. Thank you to those leaving kudos. It's a nice little pat on the back that motivates me to share.


	6. Emergence

Emergence  
___________________

“No...no.” Jenny was shaking her head at her brother as they spoke in Ian’s study. “Absolutely not, brother!”

“Ye must,” said Jamie.

“I canna do it, and I willna do it.”

Jamie looked to Ian, “It must be done, ye ken as well as I.”

“Ye’re a stubborn fool, Jamie Fraser,” said Ian. “I’ll no' try to convince ye otherwise, because I ken it’ll be for naught. I’ll just say this is a hare-brained scheme if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Thank ye!” said Jenny. “I’ve already lost my Ma, my Da, and one of my brothers, and now ye’re taking away the only one I have left!”

“If ye dinna turn me in, ye’ll be losing yer bairns next,” said Jamie. “There isna enough game to feed the house, much less the needy people on our lands. The reward for my arrest will keep all taken care of for a year, at least.”

“And what happens when that year is gone? We’ll be back to poor, and I’ll have one less brother.”

“And ye’ll still have all yer children. Jenny, ye must! I’m done hiding. I have no life here anymore. Let me do something worthwhile for this family.” He pulled her in for a tight, warm hug. “Ye will have the courage to turn me in for coin, or I will have Ian or one of the tenants do it for ye. I canna stand by and do nothing. I have nay pride left, but perhaps I could salvage some with this.”

She hugged her brother with all her strength as tears fell down her cheeks. Then, Jenny Fraser Murray stood tall, straightened her skirts and corset, and slapped her brother across the face. She turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

 _It went as well as could be expected_ , he thought to himself as he walked back to his cave. He didn’t think Jenny would give him up willingly, but she would do what was necessary for the family.

Jamie didn’t fear being locked up. He knew he could cope with anything so long as his wife and maybe even his daughter popped in and out of his dreams regularly. He did not understand it one bit, but he was certain after that last dream with his daughter that their nighttime meetings were somehow really happening, that he was connecting to his family across space and time through some mystical, metaphysical connection.

No, he didn’t fear prison. What he feared was watching the people he loved suffer. He feared the guilt that overtook him when Ian was arrested for suspicion of hiding him. If Jamie was being honest, he did fear the punishments he’d likely face in prison (lashings, beatings, possible hanging), but those fears were easier to face than letting his family down and dishonoring his father.

“Milord!” said Fergus running up behind him. “You cannot turn yourself in. I will not allow it! You’d leave me here to fend for myself?”

“Ye were fending for yourself just fine when I met ye, and ye have family now with Jenny and Ian.”

“You are my family! You and Milady!”

Jamie inhaled deeply and set his shoulders square. “Fergus, when ye’re grown, ye’ll understand. If I’m to be a man of worth, I mustna be hiding away in a cave while my family starves.”

“You want to leave me?”

“No. I want ye provided for. I canna do that as an outlaw.”

“If Milady were here, ye wouldn’t go.”

“If Claire were here, I’d be bound to protect her with my life. Ye are to be a man now, Fergus. ’Tis yer job to protect the Murrays. Ye’ll grow to be a man of worth, yerself. I ken it.”

“Is there nothing I could do to stop you?”

“No. My mind is set.”

“Fine. If being a man of worth means going to prison...I...I shall find a way to go there with you!”

Fergus turned and stormed away. Jamie was certain it was to hide his tears. He knew Fergus would be fine in Jenny and Ian’s care. He’d be alright without him. At the very least, he’d be fed.

Making the decision to have himself turned in gave Jamie a lightness and ease...a sense of relief. He felt as though there was no choice in the matter, and he was just doing what must be done. And that his wife would be there at night to help him cope with the loneliness was all the better.

__________________

Except Claire didn’t come to him that night in his dreams. He tried reaching out to Brianna with his mind, as well, but found nothing. He slept as restless as he once did on the eves of battle. In his dreams, he found himself running through empty corridors and dark rooms only to find the doors would close behind him and lock him inside yelling for his wife and child. He’d wake sucking in air and sweating from head to toe.

In fact, Claire didn’t come to him the next two nights either. He paced his cave, what little space there was to pace, over and over. He walked and hiked and climbed and ran during the daytime trying to get out his restless energy. Fear overtook him that just as he finally discovered a way to give his life purpose, Claire would no longer be there for him at night. The prospect of being locked away was far less appealing without his evening escapes of the tortures of reality.

He still had time to change his mind about his plan, and that concerned him. Jenny had no desire to send away for the redcoats to come get him anytime soon. He hoped he was strong enough to hold out and follow through with his plan.

__________________

Claire didn’t come the next night either. He knew her work at the hospital could take her away for days at a time. He tried not to give into fears that she’d never come again...or worse, that something happened to her.

He hadn’t been back to Lallybroch since his fight with Jenny, and he was out of food in the cave. He didn’t think he had it in him to fish or hunt or forage. He wasn’t ready to go back to the house with Jenny and Fergus so raw. The hunger wasn’t strong enough to force him to do anything yet, so he just lay in his cave and waited for sleep, hoping it would bring his wife to his side.

__________________

Someone did come to visit him that third night in his cave...but it wasn’t Claire.

“What are ye doing here, lass?” Jamie asked, sitting up. He didn’t bother pushing his long hair away from his face.

“Ye havena come by the house for food in quite some time. I thought ye’d like fresh bannocks and salted pork,” said Mary MacNab.

“I thank ye, but there was nay reason to come in the dark. It isna safe out here sae late.”

Mary came closer and knelt in front of him. “I heard what ye’re planning.”

“Ye’ll no' try to talk me out of it.”

“’Tis no' my place. I just thought...I hoped I could offer ye some comfort, is all.”

Jamie’s back stiffened, and he nearly growled, “I dinna need comfort.”

“I’m no' trying to replace yer wife. I ken what ye were like wi’ her. I just thought...we’ve both lost sae much, perhaps we could give each other something to take wi’ us…” Mary pulled at the laces of her skirts trying to get them off.

Jamie reached to grab her arm. His grip was firm, letting her know his urgency. “If ye kent anything about me and my wife, ye wouldna be offering yerself to me as such.” He pushed her arm back and turned away. “Be gone wi’ ye.”

He didn’t watch, but listened as Mary scrambled out of the cave. He didn’t have to see her face to know she was tearing up. He could hear her sniff and sob as she ran away.

 _The nerve of the woman_! For a moment, he wondered if Jenny had put her up to it. Then he realized it didn’t matter. Soon he’d be where Jenny would have no chance at meddling in his life.

One thing he might say for Mary, is she did offer him a temporary distraction from Claire’s mysterious absence. Now that she was gone, he set back to his task of falling asleep and waiting for the return of his wife.

*****  
“Da!”

“Brianna?”

“Da!” her little voice called out in fear.

It took Jamie a moment to gather his bearings. The room was dark and the moon was nowhere to be found. He had no idea where he was.

“Is that you, Da?”

“Aye, lass, ’tis me.” He felt his way through the dark toward Brianna’s voice. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “Where are we, a nighean?”

“I don’t know. The place where we’re sleeping.”

“Yer Ma’s wi’ ye, then?”

She nodded.

“Did something happen, lass? Ye alright?”

Brianna sniffled and shrugged her wee shoulders. He could see she was shaking.

“Oh, come here then, _a leannan_.” He sat against the headboard and pulled her against him. “It’ll be fine, aye? Yer Ma will care for ye when ye’re awake, and I’ll care for ye when ye sleep. All will be well.”

“I know,” she said firmly.

“Ye ken that, huh? Ye're a bright wee lassie.”

“My daddy told me you’d take care of me. He said you’d make sure I’m safe.”

“Yer daddy said so? Ye talked to yer daddy about me?”

She didn’t speak, but she laid her head against him and felt her body relax. He spoke softly to her, telling her how much he loved her, though he did so in Gaelic for fear she wasn't ready to hear such a thing from him yet. He told her that if he could, he’d protect her to his dying breath. He stroked her long, bonnie hair, and inhaled her soft, flowery scent.

“You’ll take care of Mama, too, won’t you?”

“Oh, aye. I’ll always take care of yer Ma….Always.”

If only her Ma would come back to him.  
*****

Jamie lay still in a nearly vegetative state of meditation throughout the entire day. He was fearful of missing Brianna’s call to him should she need him again. Discipline was all that kept him still. He rose only to relieve himself or have a small bite to eat, then he returned to his bed.

His mind begged Claire to call out to him, to bring him to her and tell him what the hell was going on.

With the arrival of his daughter in his dream the night before, he nearly forgot about Mary MacNab, Fergus, and Jenny. He knew he should visit Lallybroch to arrange his surrender, but the urgency was somehow muted with the knowledge that Brianna may yet need him again. Ian and Jenny had been living in poverty and were harassed by redcoats for years, there was no need to get it sorted out right away...they could stand a few more days while he cared for his daughter.

When darkness came again, he fell on the edge of sleep waiting for his lassies to call out to him. He probably needed their reassurance more than they needed him at the moment.

“Milord!”

“Fergus?” Jamie jumped up abruptly. The fear in Fergus’s voice had him reaching for his dirk. He ran out of the cave straight into the lad.

“Hurry, Milord! They’ll be sent away! They need you!” Fergus pushed him toward Lallybroch.

Jenny! Ian! “Is it the redcoats, lad?”

The poor laddie was wheezing with lack of air. He bent over to catch his breath and waved to Jamie, “Go!”

Jamie didn’t need further prompting. He bolted away toward Lallybroch, trusting Fergus to fend for himself. Jamie was bred for running in the Highlands. Even on days of little food and drink, his stride was quick and steady. He ran through the forest and over the hills. He didn’t slow when he made it to the meadow.

When he neared the house, he could see Michael tending to a strange horse near the stable. The wee lad was rushing around as though trying to get the job done quick and get back in the house. Rushing around an unknown large animal was never a good idea. But he didn’t have time for Michael at the moment.

Jamie stopped at the front door and listened. He could hear muted voices coming from the parlor. He stepped in quietly, his hunter’s feet not making a sound. He listened to his sister and Ian argue with another.

“And what do ye think ye’re doing coming here like this?” said Jenny. “Late in the night and making demands?! Ye’re the one who left wi’out…”

“Jenny,” Ian interrupted, “dinna say words ye’ll regret come morning. Ye ken right well they’re staying. Ye’ll get the wean fashing wi’ all this bother. Ye canna think Jamie'd be pleased wi’ how ye…”

“My brother can shove his pleasure up his arse for lying to me all these years!”

Jamie turned the corner to look into the parlor, and his world turned upside down. He nearly fell to his knees seeing _her_ standing there. _It couldna be_...

“I know you don’t owe me anything, Jenny,” she said. “And I know you’re angry with me for leaving. But with Jamie dead...I was afraid to come back here as a traitor’s wife and bring harm to Lallybroch. I stayed away to keep everyone safe.”

“Then why are ye here now?”

“Because we aren’t safe anymore either! I need your help, if only temporarily. If not for my sake, then for the sake of Jamie’s da...”

“Sassenach?” The word on his lips felt so right. It warmed him to the marrow of his bones.

She froze completely still. It was almost as if she was afraid to look. Her hair was down, curls flowing wild, each with their own stubborn will. He could see her hands trembling.

Jamie noticed a smirk playing over his sister’s face...a right wicked teasing game she was playing with Claire, letting her think Jamie was dead. Ian was smiling, too, looking back and forth between Jamie and Claire.

Jamie stepped closer to his wife as the people around them faded away. “Ye’re here, Sassenach? Ye’re real?”

Claire finally turned. Her beautiful eyes met Jamie’s, and her mouth trembled as she groped for words. “Jamie? But you’re...dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in his chest, “I may ha’ been dead these five long years, but I’d rise from the grave to see ye, _mo nighean donn_.”

She slowly stepped toward him, raising her hand to touch his face. “How do I know you’re not another dream?”

If he wasn’t so filled with joy at her return, he may have felt shame at the state of his appearance. His beard was long and full, his hair was a mess, and he hadn’t bathed in over a week.

“I dinna ken,” he laughed. He brought his hands to her face and cradled it in his palms. His eyes looked her over and found minute differences from the woman he’d known five years before—small scars, tiny freckles, and the finest of lines. “But no one else is ever in our dreams wi’ us, save the wean. And, God, I’d hope ye'd be more generous than this in yer dreams of me.” He waved to his filthy appearance.

She smiled sweetly and caressed his cheek. Her fingers grazed over his beard and gave it a tug. “It is you?”

He nodded.

“It was you the whole time? All those dreams?”

He laughed, “Aye. Lallybroch, Leoch, Paris, Boston...I told ye they were real.”

“Jamie!”

She pulled him down and kissed him firmly. For the first time, he realized just how muted all their dreams had really been. At the time, they felt more real than his waking life, but now, with his wife truly in his arms, they seemed like distant musings...fantasies. Her scent was far more potent, her taste all the sweeter, her beauty more devastating. And when she licked her tongue inside his mouth, he lost his legs, and they fell to their knees. Tears streamed down their cheeks and sobs shook in their chests. They kissed and held each other with all their might. He feared breaking her ribs, but he just couldn’t stop.

Everything was different with Claire in his arms. Everything had changed. She was there with him. His wife! His Claire! His life! To hell with his dreams...he finally had _her_.

“My wife. _Mo chridhe_. My Claire. I never thought I’d see ye again, _mo ghraidh_. How is this possible? How are ye here?” He pulled back just enough to see her face. “The bairn? Is she alright? She came to me and said…”

His voice caught in his throat when the smile spread over Claire’s tear-streaked face. She looked to the little pallet by the fire where the weans sometimes lay…

“Jamie...she’s here, too.”

“Brianna…” he said, and fell to pieces in his wife’s arms again.


	7. A New Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took an additional artistic freedom with this chapter...I used the prophecy from the books rather than the one from the show (even though this fic is more firmly based on the show than the books). Please humor my fluidity moving between the two mediums. It should all make sense in the end.

A New Dream  
___________________

Brianna was whimpering in the saddle in front of me as we rode at a galloping pace. I didn’t know if her sounds were due to physical discomfort or because of Frank. I put as much cushion as was safe between her and the seat, but the poor little one just wasn’t accustomed to sitting on such a hard bouncing surface for so long.

I slowed to a stop and dismounted to lead the horse into the cover of some nearby brush. Brianna needed another break to get her body moving and her blood flowing. These frequent stops were making the ride from Inverness to Lallybroch longer than expected.

A part of me was eager to get to Lallybroch as quickly as possible, but another more reluctant part needed the time to process all that transpired in the last several days. It was a blur in my current sleep-deprived condition. It seemed only yesterday I was sitting in my Boston kitchen with a drunken Frank as he told me a fantastical centuries old tale.

The story went that a prophecy was told by the Brahan Seer to a plantation owner in Jamaica. The prophecy claimed that the next Scottish monarch would be the last living heir to Lord Lovat, Simon Fraser (who also happened to be Jamie’s grandfather, the old fox).

I wrote it off as Frank having too much to drink. But when neither Frank nor Brianna came to my graduation the next day, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.

I don’t think the radicals expected a history professor to be so proficient with firearms, but Frank was an excellent shot thanks, to the military, and had several weapons in the house. He killed the intruders as soon as he realized they intended to take our daughter.

The police were already there when I arrived home with my diploma in hand, and we stayed only long enough for Frank to give his statement. We kept all talk of prophecies out of the investigation. The last thing we needed was for that information to make the news and become a beacon of Brianna’s lineage that would draw all manner of evils to our front door.

Neither Frank nor I believed the prophecy, but the radicals did, and that’s all that mattered. Frank concluded they would either try to kidnap who they believed to be the next queen of Scotland...or possibly worse...keep her until she was old enough to bear one of them an heir.

Frank surprised me yet again. He was ready for this; he’d been preparing for years. I shouldn’t have been so shocked. Of course he would look into Brianna’s family history. Of course he would want to know everything about her. He’d read about the prophecy before she was born and saw the danger of someone tying those silly words to me and to her. He only hoped that no one would ever find out she was a Fraser of Lovat, but thank goodness, he didn’t count on it.

When men turned up at our house looking for me days before, Frank worried it was to do with the prophecy, so he researched to see if my past could somehow be linked to my present. He was, unfortunately, successful.

First, he found some letters from the Murray children to their friends gossiping about their Auntie Claire being a faerie and taking their baby cousin to live in a dun. Second, the deed of sasine I signed, handing Lallybroch over to the Murrays, documented that Claire Beauchamp Fraser was indeed Jamie’s wife. Finally, newspaper clippings of Claire Beauchamp Randall showing up in 1948 after being kidnapped by the fairies tied me directly to time traveling and to the prophecy.

For years, Frank had been hoarding 18th century coins, gold, and gems in case we ever needed to return back to a place where Brianna was no longer the last heir of Simon of Lovat’s line. The 18th century would be a safe place where there were other Frasers alive and producing other heirs.

Frank flew us to Scotland and brought us directly to Craigh Na Dun—with only a quick detour to a pharmacy to pick up some penicillin and a syringe—hoping beyond hope that Brianna would be able to travel through the stones along with me. When we arrived, it was immediately clear she had the ability to time travel when she covered her ears at all the noise the stones were making. Frank couldn’t hear a thing. I just hoped we were close enough to Litha for safe passage.

My goodbye to Frank was much different than my goodbye to Jamie five years before. I didn’t feel like I was losing a piece of my soul, but I was losing a husband, a partner, and my child’s father.

“You’ll go to Inverness and purchase a horse, then ride straight to Broch Tuarach,” he said. “You have enough food to get you there, and you can find water along the way.”

I nodded. I could get us to Lallybroch easily enough.

“You’re sure the Murrays will help you?” he asked. “You’re a traitor’s wife and witch to boot. You’d bring nothing but danger to them.”

I looked at Brianna. “They’d never turn away Jamie’s wife and child. At worst, we could always go back to Paris. I had friends there.”

He pulled me in for a hug. “Claire, I _do_ love you, I hope you know that.”

Tears moistened my eyes. “I love you, too, Frank.”

“Thank you...for Brianna,” his voice cracked.

I kissed his cheek and whispered, “You’re a wonderful father...and a good man.”

Frank bent down to Brianna and grabbed her by the arms. “You understand why you and your mother must go?”

She nodded. “It’s safe from the bad men. Can’t you come, too, Daddy?”

Frank coughed to clear the tightness in his throat. “No, darling. I don’t have the magic. But listen...you mustn’t tell anyone you can travel through time, you understand? It’s dangerous if people know.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And listen to your mother. She’s been there before. She knows how to keep you safe. She’ll protect you.” Even Brianna could hear the fear and desperation in Frank’s voice.

“Don’t worry. Da says he’ll protect me. He’s big and strong.”

“Da?”

She smiled, “He was in my dream. He has hair like me and wears a skirt.”

Frank wiped the tears from his eyes. “That’s very good, indeed. Your mother will protect you in the day, and your Da will protect you in your dreams.”

“You think he’ll protect Mama’s dreams, too?”

“I’m sure he will.” Frank hugged her tight and kissed the crown of her head. “I love you, Brianna. Don’t forget that. Don’t ever forget how happy I was to be your father.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

“Be strong. Be brave.”

And with that, I picked her up onto my hip and walked toward the stones. With a very large five year old in tow—and all the food, coins, gold, and gems tucked into both the original pockets to the cloak and dress, and makeshift ones we stitched on—it was no easy weight to bear.

“We need to leave now, Bree. We’re going to go visit our family, like we talked about. I need you to say the name of your Da’s sister, Auntie Jenny. Say it with me over and over. Jenny Murray. Jenny Murray. Jenny Murray.”

“Jenny Murray. Jenny Murray,” she whispered.

I looked back to Frank once more before touching the stones. Just as I turned, a shot rang out behind him, and his knees hit the floor. Blood began pouring from his chest. My instinct was to run to him and staunch the wound.

“Go!” he yelled with all the life he had left.

Dark figures were running toward us. I grabbed Brianna’s hand and pressed it against the stone with mine...

And here we were, riding from Inverness to Lallybroch with pockets full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, coins, and gold (the gems didn’t make it through the stones intact).

Brianna had been quiet since we arrived. Only occasional whimpers and sniffles could be heard from her, and she couldn’t be coaxed to say much of anything. From what I gathered, she didn’t see what happened to Frank...and I had no intention of telling her.

“Come, darling,” I told her, wrapping up our brief break from riding. “We should get moving. I’d like to reach Lallybroch before nightfall.”

“Will Da be there?”

I took a shuddering breath. Frank couldn’t find any record if Jamie lived or died at Culloden. But I knew Jamie. He’d made up his mind to die for his cause and his family. I was certain he was gone. “No, Bree. He died a long time ago in a great battle.”

“Oh,” she sounded disappointed. “He seemed nice.”

“He was very nice. And he loved you very much. I heard you tell your daddy you saw him in your dreams?”

“Yeah. He came again when we stayed at the inn. He said he’ll take care of us. You too, Mama.”

I quite liked the idea of Jamie’s spirit being the guardian of our dreams.

So on we rode toward Lallybroch, anticipation building with every gallop closer. Brianna was very fond of our new horse and would bend periodically to pet her mane. The horse was a gentle, old mare, if not very fast. Brianna had taken to calling her Dorothy. Bree probably felt as though the horse was taking us down the yellow brick road to Oz.

As we rode along, Brianna asked, “What are all those purple flowers, Mama?”

“It’s heather, darling. Isn’t it beautiful?”

She nodded.

“You can collect some with your cousins if you like, when we get to Lallybroch. I can braid it into your hair.”

“I have cousins?”

“You do, though I’m not sure how many by now.”

“I’ve never had cousins before.”

“I never had cousins either. I think you'll like them very much. And I think you’ll like it here...even if it’s a bit different.”

“How is it different?”

“Well, you won’t go to school like normal. I’ll just teach you from home. Sometimes the food is really fresh and yummy, and sometimes it’s just awful. When it’s awful, we must be polite and not complain.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And there are no toilets.”

She turned and looked at me in horror.

“It’s not so bad. There are pots in rooms you go in at night, and there are privies outdoors. And we have to fetch water from outside; there are no faucets. But there are lots of animals and plenty of trouble you could get into if you’re feeling adventurous.”

Much like I adjusted to digging latrines at a young age with Uncle Lamb, I was sure Brianna would do the same. It was her adjustment to losing Frank I was most concerned about.

Personally, I found myself quite numb. Perhaps it was the shock of it all. Perhaps it was returning to the 18th century knowing Jamie was no longer there. Perhaps it was facing my in-laws after so many years away and not knowing what I’d find.

We encountered very few people along the ride, and when I saw strangers coming up on the road with enough notice, I was able to move off and hide in the rocks or trees. There were a few traveling men, a couple of families, and a particularly eccentric, elderly fellow talking to himself in a strange mixture of French and Gaelic about a Frenchman’s treasure, but that was all I could make out. Brianna was able to keep impressively quiet in these instances, not even letting out the most hushed of whimpers until I moved the horse back onto the road.

Unfortunately, the sun set before we got to Lallybroch, but I was close enough to navigate in the dark and know where we were. Warmth, excitement, and fear coursed through me the closer we came. Brianna had fallen asleep in the saddle and was completely unaware of my emotional turmoil.

When we arrived at the front gate, I hesitated only a moment before going through.

The dogs ran out, loud and barking to announce our arrival, but not even they could rouse Brianna from her fatigue-induced stupor. A voice yelled to the dogs in elegant French to quiet down. There was a strange familiarity in the sound of that voice…

The owner of the voice came out the front door and scratched the ears of the dogs as he inspected the new arrivals. His eyes squinted as they adjusted to the pale moonlight. The young Frenchman was tall and lanky, with dark hair and dark eyes. Though he wasn’t quite a man, he also wasn’t the boy I once knew…but I most certainly knew him.

“Fergus? Oh my darling, Fergus!”

“Milady?” said his deep, pubescent voice, full of shock and wonder. “Is it really you? You have been restored!”

“Oh Fergus!” I dismounted with a sleeping Brianna in my arms. She didn’t wake as I put her over my shoulder. Fergus came to hug me, and his eyes went wide with shock as he looked at her sleeping form. “Milady! The child! Is she Milord’s?”

“Yes.” I stroked her red hair, still visible, even in the lack of light. “She’s Jamie’s daughter.”

His answering smile was so full of joy that it nearly broke my heart. He kissed my cheek firmly, careful not to disturb Brianna.

“Come inside, Milady. We have all grieved your loss so terribly. The family will be delighted to…”

“What in God’s name?” Jenny’s Murray’s voice rang out from the doorway in surprise. “Speak of the Devil and so he appears.”

“Jenny…” I didn’t know what to say. Nothing seemed quite sufficient to explain my five year absence.

She stepped down to meet me, and Ian followed behind. “Claire? It canna be.”

“Hello,” I said most pathetically. “It’s been a long time.”

“It’s a miracle!” said Fergus.

I watched the shock fade on Jenny’s face as she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms. “So, ye’ve been alive these five long years, with a bairn no less, and never thought to tell us?”

“I couldn’t, Jenny...”

“And, what? Ye think ye can just show up here in the middle of the night and act like no time at all has passed? We grieved ye, Claire!”

Ian stepped around his wife, stopping her from saying more. He nodded to Fergus and said, “Go!” effectively dismissing him. Fergus took off at a sprint out through the gate and into the wilderness.

“Claire,” said Ian, trying to clear his head with a shake. “Is it really you? This isna a dream, is it?”

“It’s really me. I’m here.”

“The child?” He stepped closer to look at Brianna. “Look at that red hair.” He looked to me in question...hoping.

“She’s Jamie’s.”

“Ye’ve kept my brother’s child from this house?!” Jenny demanded. She turned on her heel and marched angrily back in the house cursing and grumbling in Gaelic.

Though I didn’t know what to expect in my welcome, I wasn’t surprised at Jenny’s response. I remembered well enough the explosion between her and Jamie the first time we met.

Ian came close and inspected Brianna. He laughed softly and whispered, “A right wee Jamie, is she no'?”

“Just wait until she opens her eyes.”

“Oh, Claire, ’tis verra fine to see ye.” He hugged me softly so as not to wake Bree. “Come inside. It looks like ye’ve had quite a journey. We’ll get ye some food and dram, if I can find one.”

“Thank you.”

He took the horse and tied her up by the door. He brought us into the parlor and sent out his young son to feed and water Dorothy and set her up in the stables. He gestured to a pile of blankets near the fire and said, “The wean can rest there while ye fill your belly and tell us where ye’ve been all this time.”

He hesitated a moment before taking his leave to the kitchen. He might’ve been afraid I’d disappear again if he left. I bent down and lay Brianna on the blankets. I covered her with my heavy cloak and smoothed the hair out of her face.

“We made it, my love,” I whispered. “We’ll be alright.”

She smiled softly as she slept on.

A few minutes later, Jenny came in with a tray of food and Ian with a bottle of whisky. I went straight for the whisky.

Jenny stepped softly toward the fire as I drank down the fiery liquid. She knelt next to her niece and spoke quietly in Gaelic. A tear was rolling down her cheek when she looked over her shoulder at me.

“What’s her name?” asked Jenny.

“Brianna.”

“Brianna? What a terrible name for a lass.”

“It’s not a terrible name. Before he sent me away, Jamie asked me to name her for your father. Brian.”

I saw a quirk of her mouth as though Jenny was trying to stop herself from smiling. “Bree-anna. Ye say it wrong...like a sassenach. Ye’re right; ’tis a lovely name.”

“Brianna Ellen Fraser,” I said.

More tears came. “Aye, a lovely name.” She murmured over her niece once more before rising to speak with me again.

“Where were ye, Claire? How could ye keep from us sae long?”

I took a deep breath and steadied myself to have a conversation I didn’t feel prepared for. I told them that Jamie sent us away because I was a traitor’s wife. He was afraid for me and Brianna. When I heard he died, I left for America. I was afraid I'd bring harm to Lallybroch and afraid I couldn’t keep Brianna safe in Scotland.”

“And why didn’t ye send any letters? Family sends letters!”

“Because they could be traced back to us.” I didn’t like lying to Jenny, but it seemed necessary.

She rolled her eyes like she didn’t believe me for a moment. “The Claire I kent wouldn’t have given up on my brother even as she watched his corpse turn to dust on the table in front of her.”

“If all I had to worry about was myself, I would’ve died on that battlefield with my husband. It wasn’t just about me anymore.” I looked at Brianna still fast asleep.

Jenny sipped her whisky, her critical eyes narrowing on me again. “What on earth are ye wearing?”

I sighed in frustrated embarrassment. We’d purchased dresses at a local costume shop in Inverness, but they were neither a good fit nor accurate for the time or place. Our alterations and additions of pockets only made the dress look sloppier.

“We didn’t get a chance to pack our bags. Look,” I stood and stepped close to her, hoping our past relationship could get us through her mistrust of me now. “Jenny. I need your help. Brianna and I both need your help...”

“Dinna fash, lass,” said Ian. “Of course we’ll help ye in any way we can.”

“The devil we will!” said Jenny. “Not with these pathetic excuses she’s giving us lamer than that leg of the horse we put down last summer.”

“Jenny, please, I…” I tried to plead before she cut me off with a raised finger.

“And what do ye think ye’re doing coming here like this?” said Jenny. “Late in the night and making demands?! Ye’re the one who left wi’out…”

“Jenny,” Ian interrupted, “dinna say words ye’ll regret come morning. Ye ken right well they’re staying. Ye’ll get the wean fashing wi’ all this bother. Ye canna think Jamie’d be pleased wi’ how ye…”

“My brother can shove his pleasure up his arse for lying to me all these years!”

“I know you don’t owe me anything, Jenny,” I said, mildly confused about their exchange. “And I know you’re angry with me for leaving. But with Jamie dead...I was afraid to come back here as a traitor’s wife and bring harm to Lallybroch. I stayed away to keep everyone safe.”

“Then why are ye here now?”

“Because we aren’t safe anymore either! I need your help, if only temporarily. If not for my sake, then for the sake of Jamie’s da...”

“Sassenach?” Jamie’s voice shattered my focus in an instant. It was deep and rough with lack of use, but I’d know that voice anywhere.

I froze completely still, too terrified to look. I couldn’t stop myself from trembling. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t possibly be him.

“Ye’re here, Sassenach? Ye’re real?”

Slowly, I turned...and there he was. In truth, he was almost unrecognizable with his absurdly long hair and wild beard. But it _was_ him. No one was built like Jamie, so tall and broad. And no one had eyes like his, as blue as a cloudless sky, a hint of a smile always glinting at the corners. And _no one_ ever looked at me like that...like I was the center of all things, gravity itself pulling him closer.

My mouth trembled as I groped for words. “Jamie? But you’re...dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in his chest, and his eyes twinkled in humor, “I may ha’ been dead these five long years, but I’d rise from the grave to see ye, _mo nighean donn_.”

I stepped toward him slowly, reaching for his face, still afraid I was imagining things...or worse. “How do I know you’re not another dream?”

“I dinna ken,” he laughed. He cradled my face in his rough palms, taking in the look of me for the first time since Culloden. Was I much changed? “But no one else is ever in our dreams wi’ us, save the wean. And, God, I hope ye'd be more generous than this in yer dreams of me.” He waved to his filthy appearance.

He was right, I don’t think I could’ve ever imagined him quite like this. “It is you?”

He nodded.

 _Wait,_ I thought to myself. He said no one was ever in our dreams with us. _It couldn’t possibly have been him...could it?_ “It was you the whole time? All those dreams?”

He laughed, “Aye. Lallybroch, Leoch, Paris, Boston...I told ye they were real.”

“Jamie!”

I lost control altogether, and pulled him down, kissing him with complete abandon. His furry face tickled my skin, and his great big hands held me tight, making sure I didn’t disappear.

I needed more! I pushed my tongue into his mouth, desperate for the taste of him. He groaned and lost his footing, making us fall to our knees. I hadn’t even realized he was all that was keeping me upright.

He was really there. He was real! _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!_ My life in Boston had become so muted, so gray. This was like seeing a film for the first time in technicolor, a vivid world of sight, sound, and all sensation.

Tears and sobs tried breaking us apart, but I’d never stop kissing him. I’d never let him go again.

Everything was different. Everything had changed.

There were the two of us once again.

“My wife. _Mo chridhe._ ” He said against my lips. “My Claire. I never thought I’d see ye again, _mo ghraidh_. How is this possible? How are ye here?” He pulled back just enough to see my face. “The bairn? Is she alright? She came to me and said…”

And then it hit me. There wasn’t just two of us any longer...there were three. I looked at the little pallet by the fire where Brianna slept.

“Jamie...she’s here, too.”

He sucked in a breath as his eyes landed on his daughter. As quiet as a whisper, he said, “Brianna…”

His breath was labored and the tears didn’t stop. He completely collapsed as the weight of him fell heavy on my shoulders. I was hardly in a position to even hold myself up, but I did all I could to support him. He buried his face in my neck and pulled me in hard against his chest. One of his hands was gripping my hair so tight, I worried he might accidentally yank it out.

It was all too much at once. The tears wouldn’t stop. My brain was trying to consolidate all that happened over the last few days. Frank was dead. Jamie was _alive_. I was in his arms. We had our daughter. The dreams were _real_.

I wasn’t alone.

I wanted to tell him everything. I needed his reassurance that we’d be ok, but he wasn’t in a condition to do so when he could hardly breath. The only thing he was capable of in that moment was meeting his daughter.

“Come,” I said, pulling back and grabbing his hand. “Come meet your daughter...again.” He audibly swallowed as I led him to Brianna. His hand tightened his grip and crushed my fingers the closer we got to our child. He looked utterly terrified.

Jamie stared at her with so much wonder...so much pride...much like the way I first looked at her when I gave birth. He wiped his tears with his sleeve and sniffed the snot dripping from his nose. I pulled out a handkerchief from my sleeve and wiped him clean.

We knelt together over Brianna...the product of our love. Our legacy.

“ _Tha thu brèagha, a ghràidh_ ,” he whispered to her. “Does she remember our dreams, Sassenach?”

“She does.”

“Ye think it’ll be alright if I held her? Will she be frightened?”

“She seemed to trust you in our dreams. It should be alright. And I’ll be here for her, too. And for you.”

“Aye.” He reached down and gathered Brianna in his arms. He held her like a newborn babe. “Oh, God,” he whispered in overwhelming gratitude.

His head bent down as he sobbed over her. I wiped his tears before they could drop on Brianna. His quiet muttering was heart-wrenching to hear.

When his tears slowed, he bent his head and kissed her softly. His long whiskers must have tickled her face, because she finally stirred. Her blue eyes opened to find Jamie watching her with the most glorious smile on his face. The joyful change of his expression was a revelation, sending my heart fluttering like mad.

Brianna reached up a small hand and touched his cheek. “Am I dreaming again, Da?”

“No, _a leannan_. Ye’re here with me...ye’re awake.”

I was hovering right next to them in her line of sight. Brianna looked sleepily my way. “See, Mama. He didn’t die. He’ll take care of us, now.”

A sound of pleasant agreement sounded from Jamie’s chest. “Aye. I’m here wi’ ye both, and I’ll care for my lassies. All is well, Brianna.”

Bree nuzzled into her father’s chest and closed her eyes. Her hand tangled in his long beard and kept a tight grip as she fell back asleep. Jamie carried her to the couch and sat down with her curled up in his arms. I followed like a shadow, refusing to part from his side.

On and on he muttered soothingly to Brianna until all tension left her body, and she hung limply in his embrace.

“Thank ye, Claire.” His eyes sparkled when he looked up. “I’ll never be able to thank ye enough.”

Our foreheads met in quiet intimacy. We sat for a long moment just breathing each other in. Our family was whole for the very first time.

Rushing footsteps interrupted our illusion of privacy. Fergus ran into the parlor, out of breath and grinning foolishly. I realized that was where Ian must have sent him...to retrieve his Milord.

My eyes flashed to Jenny and Ian, who’d obviously known Jamie was alive the whole time I prattled on, begging for their help. They were both smiling as tears fell freely from their eyes. My thoughts turned to Jamie and his lonely life in that cave. Jenny and Ian must’ve struggled seeing him so isolated...how much this moment must have meant for them, to see him with his daughter, to see him so happy.

Other heads were peeking in the room: wee Jamie (who wasn’t looking so wee anymore), a couple of his sisters, Rabbie MacNab and his mother who seemed more shocked than anyone at our appearance.

“Claire,” said Jamie, suddenly very serious. He was looking at me with his brow knotted in concern. He whispered, “What on Earth happened? Yer graduation? It’s been days since ye last came to my dreams.”

I shook my head and looked around the room. Tears of a different kind threatened to fall as my mind danced on the edge of grief over Frank.

“Dinna fash, we’ll talk when ye’re ready.” His eyes were as comforting as ever, even if there were dark circles around them.

He was still the same Jamie. He was still alive! Tears broke yet again. “I can’t believe you’re here. I keep thinking this is a dream.”

“We always kent when we were dreaming, Sassenach. I’m alive. I told ye Jenny mended me after Culloden.”

I turned to Jenny, “You saved him?”

“Aye,” said Jenny, “and this is the first time he’s behaved even remotely grateful for it.”

“Jamie,” I chided.

He nuzzled my face. Brianna was so comfortable in her father’s arms, nothing we did disrupted her. “As I said, _mo chridhe_ , I was naught but a shell wi’out ye.”

“So,” said Ian, tentatively, “the dreams, Claire. Ye were having them, as well?”

I looked around at our audience who was eagerly awaiting my response. “Um, yes. I started having dreams of Jamie a few weeks ago. It didn’t think they could possibly be real.”

Eyes were wide and in varying states of excitement and wariness. Sensing the likely interrogation that would follow if the conversation continued, Jamie intervened quickly.

“Brianna and Claire need rest after their long journey,” he told Jenny.

“The lassies have made up your room,” she said. “The fire is burning, the bed is warm, and hot water awaits ye.” Jenny looked to me softly and gave a faint smile. Yes, she was sore I left without word, but she’d never turn me away...nor Brianna. However, she wasn’t above making me suffer a little after what I’d done to her.

“Thank ye, _mo phiuthar_ ,” said Jamie. He stood with Bree cradled in his arms. His cooing sounds came so natural. He gently bounced and rocked her back and forth as he spoke. “Come, _mo nighean donn_. We’ll get ye both in a warm bed, and God knows I could use a bit of shave.”

As we made our way to the stairs, I grabbed Fergus in a fierce hug, so pleased I was to see him alive and well. “I missed you dearly, my darling.”

“I can see that, Milady,” he laughed pleasantly. I could hear so much of Jamie’s old humor in his voice. “I missed you, too.”

I followed Jamie and Brianna upstairs to our room. It was a beautiful sight to behold, him tucking her into bed for the very first time. Freshly laundered shifts were laid out for Brianna and I to sleep in. Brianna woke only briefly as I changed her out of her ratty dress.

Jamie was washing himself at the steaming basin of water while I tended to Bree. He removed his filthy shirt and washed his chest and oxters. I almost lamented him washing away his natural scent with the pungent lye soap.

Much of him had changed. He’d lost some of his youthful fullness, and his lines and edges were all the sharper. He had a few new scars, all the more noticeable in comparison to our recent dreams. When he removed his trousers, I caught sight of a scar viciously disfiguring his inner thigh, barely missing his femoral artery.

“Oh, Jamie,” I rushed over and grabbed ahold of him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. God, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, hush now, _mo ghraidh_. Ye were protecting our bairn. And ye’re here now.”

“I’ll never leave you again. Never. I don’t care what wars we have to run from; I won’t let you go.”

His rumbling chuckle warmed and soothed me, “Ye think I’d have it in me to send ye away again? I’d betray God himself to keep ye close, Claire.”

His voice was soft and light, but I knew he meant every word.

“Kiss me, soldier. Don’t ever stop.”

His lips found mine, and once again, his beard tickled my face. I closed my eyes as our mouths moved together. His lips were rough and chapped from living wild for so long, but the longer we kissed, the softer they felt. His tongue was somehow gentle and strong, and it roused me with every lick and caress.

I opened my eyes to find him watching me as though he was afraid I’d disappear right out of his arms, the way I’d done in our dreams. His gaze was mesmerizing, drowning out all else around us...including the sleeping child a dozen feet away.

“God, I need ye, Claire.”

His mouth latched hot on my neck, sucking, biting, and licking. His naked body was hard against my belly. His hands were searching my back for the laces of my costume dress.

“Pull the little tab down,” I said, turning so he could release the zipper. He finally got the dress off, and it fell to the floor with a heavy clatter of gold and coin.

“Ye carrying rocks, Sassenach?”

“Not far off.”

With our dreams still fresh in our minds, this felt familiar. It felt so right. It felt like home. Our bodies weren’t meant to have anything between them. They were meant to be joined. Blood of my blood and bone of my bone.

He took me there on the soft rug by the fire with a quiet urgency, fearful of waking Brianna, but desperate to be joined, to find that mutual climax. He loved me with his paradoxical firm tenderness I’d been craving for years, with that affectionate softness underlying an alarming, needy hunger. He somehow gave me everything and took all I had in the same breath.

Afterward, I lay wrapped in his arms, painfully content. He touched me everywhere, learning my body all over again. “What a shock to see ye again, Sassenach. To go sae long thinking my heart would never beat again, then seeing ye standing there...all at once it was brought to life.”

“A shock for you? I thought you were dead.” I tugged gently on his beard, “And in you come, looking like you haven’t seen a bath for five years and making all the dreams I never allowed myself to have come true.”

He cradled my head against his heart, and I could hear its strong, steady pace. “How did ye come to be here if ye thought I was dead? I’m no complaining, aye? But surely it isna safer in this time than in yer own?”

I was too tired to tell everything, but I didn’t have much choice. Not that Jamie couldn’t wait to hear it, but Brianna was asleep, and parents of young children couldn’t be picky about such things. So I told him all that transpired from the moment I was pulled from his arms in our last dream, to the moment I ran back into them downstairs.

“Oh, Claire. Ye’ve got more courage in ye than the fiercest of Highlanders I’ve ever kent.” He stroked my hair and kissed my crown. “Ye’re grieving Frank then, too, aye?”

“And so is Brianna. They were very close.”

“It seems I’m indebted to the man’s poor soul yet again, giving his life for my wife and child.” I didn’t need to correct Jamie with the knowledge that Frank considered us _his_ wife and child, too, and that Jamie’s care for us was a debt paid. He saw the truth of it in my eyes and acknowledged it with a clench of his jaw.

I reluctantly stood up to put on my shift. Jamie would learn very quickly that a marriage with a small child was very different from a marriage without one. No lazing around naked when a little one was more likely to interrupt than not.

He put on his shirt, as well, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked over Brianna like he’d never get enough. “She’s beautiful, Claire. Strong and healthy. You’ve done a fine job of mothering her.”

“And now you get to father her. How I’ve ached for this moment for so long.”

“Aye.” He enfolded me in his arms, inhaling deeply.

“I need a bath,” I protested.

“And I need a shave. Ye interrupted my ablutions.”

I touched his chest through his shirt, “Can you blame me? I hadn’t made love to my husband while conscious in half a decade”

“Mmm, no, I canna blame ye. I can only thank ye.” He grabbed my bottom as he kissed me again.

Being at Lallybroch with Jamie and Brianna was truly a dream come true. Unfortunately, the past had proven repeatedly that an idyll like this was never meant to last. A knot started forming in my gut at the thought of something coming between us again…

...like the redcoats coming for Jamie’s head.

“What are we going to do, Jamie?”

“Sleep,” he said pleasantly. “Ye need rest.”

“I meant…”

“I know what ye meant, _mo nighean donn_. But there’s naught to be done about my being a traitor tonight, and I dinna think we should be making hasty decisions on sae little rest. I doubt any of us have slept adequately in the last three days.”

“You’ll stay here, too? You won’t go back to the cave?”

“Hmphm. I wouldna leave ye if the Devil himself tried to take me away.”

“Now lie down, Sassenach. Let me hold ye as we sleep. I fear I’ll no dream of ye while ye’re sae close, so I want ye in my arms when I wake.”


	8. Gang Aft Agley

Gang Aft Agley  
___________________

Jamie wiped the last of the soap and water from his face. Nothing but his wife's lips had touched his bare cheeks since before she left through the stones. He had every intention of feeling them once again…

...as soon as she woke.

He waited to groom himself until after she fell asleep in his arms. Claire held Brianna, and Jamie held Claire. So blurred were the lines between dreams and waking, he didn’t want to close his eyes for fear of banishing this fantasy come to life. 

So, he rose up and trimmed his hair as short as could be while still able to club it back, and he shaved his face so his wife could recognize the man she married and his daughter could see her father had some degree of pride. 

He pulled his shirt on and made his way back to the bed that held his whole world. Brianna lay sleeping sideways in the bed, somehow turning herself around so her feet were shoved into her mother’s belly. Claire lay on the edge of the mattress sound asleep, content to let their daughter have her way with all the space.

“Come, a leannan,” he muttered as he lifted Brianna and placed her head on the pillow in the center of the bed. “Give yer Ma a wee bit of space or she’ll be sleeping on the floor come morning.” 

He then lifted Claire, scooting her away from the edge.

“Mmmm, Jamie,” she hummed in her sleep. 

Was she still dreaming of him, then? Even if he wasn’t asleep to meet her? If he slept now, would he join her in that dream?

But why would he want to sleep when the real thing lay there before him? God, she was more beautiful than he remembered. Her skin was so like pearl, pale white, reflecting shimmering firelight into his eyes. And it was softer than the finest French silks. He could touch her forever and never tire of her velvety skin on his rough hands. He caressed her cheek, tracing the lines of her jaw and the elegant set of her neck. 

He didn’t think it possible to love her more than when they said goodbye on that godforsaken hill...nor when he met her again and again in their dreams. But then she came to him once more...and she brought him his child. 

His hands moved down her thin shift and rested on her belly. He wished he could’ve been there while she gave birth. He wished he could’ve held her and told her just how brave she was to face having another bairn after she nearly died with Faith.

How often did he worry that she didn’t make it through childbirth? That she didn’t make it through the stones?

But, thank the Lord and her physicians in the 20th century, she was alive and so was their child. He bent his head over her womb and said a prayer to the Blessed Mother in gratitude.

Claire’s body had changed carrying both of their children. He remembered making love to her that first time months after she gave birth to Faith. She had felt so different when he pushed inside her. The child, as small as she was, restructured her body forever.

It was a strange thing to think a whole person grew there in her belly...a person he helped make. Blood of his blood and bone of his bone.

And with Brianna, her body changed yet again. Jamie lifted Claire’s shift so he could run his hands over her skin. There were little scars where her belly had stretched and tightened up again. Her waist was still so small, but her hips and her arse were a fair bit wider. Jesus Christ, he loved it. And what’s more, he loved that HE was the one who did it to her. The children he put in her belly crafted this most perfect body and filled out her beautiful, plump arse.

What started out as innocent caresses were quickly turning into something more. He grabbed handfuls of her flesh, loving how the soft tissue gave way to his firm grip. His cock grew hard with need as he thought of being squeezed between her full, plump thighs, just as stunning and pale as the rest of her skin, just as soft and pliant as her arse.

And then, there was her quim. That had changed, too, he knew from their earlier brief joining, though he hadn’t the time to fully explore how so quite yet. A lift of her hips and a soft moan seemed like an invitation. He looked up to see his wife’s eyes watching him with no little need of her own.

Dear God, to be wanted by her in such a way! He couldn’t deny her, and he couldn’t deny himself. There was no reason for restraint, anyway. They were marrit, for Christ’s sake! He put his arms under her and lifted, carrying her to the rug by the fire once more. 

He lifted her shift, and her legs naturally fell open. He ran his hand over the soft heat of her. Pale skin covered by a small patch of dark hair. The slit of her quim revealed her pink folds beneath. Her musky-scented arousal reached his nose, and his cock pulsed beneath his shirt.

Jamie lay on his belly between her legs and ran his nose from thigh to thigh with a deep inhale. Her quim was shining with moisture, glistening in the pale firelight, beckoning him to come drink from its waters. He lay a kiss over the entrance to her womb, letting her slick heat soften his dry lips. 

He looked up and found her bright eyes watching. Her hands gripped the rug in an effort to hold herself still. For a moment, he’d forgotten how roused this made her, so focused he was on tasting her for his own pleasure. He licked his lips and took in her salty flavor. 

“Oh God,” he whispered. He wanted more, needed more. He kissed the wee nub that always made her squirm and scream. He’d forgotten the word she called it. It didn’t matter, it still worked the same. Her full lips were spread open as his mouth latched on. He sucked and licked the wee thing and felt her twitching and rolling beneath him. He grazed her with his teeth and watched her shudder. 

“Jamie!” she whispered. 

Jesus, to hear the sound of his name floating on the waves of her husky voice. He heard a groan come from his own mouth as he licked from bottom to top, savoring the changing flavors along the way. 

His tongue reached deep inside, licking up her sweet, viscous honey. Yes, she had changed there, too. The texture was different than he remembered, though the flavor the same. She still had the soft, spongy spot just around the inside of the bone of her pelvis. His tongue reached deep to feel it’s softness, to quench his thirst with the flood of arousal he knew would come when he licked her there. 

His poor, sweet wife tried her best to keep quiet, but she was moaning and whimpering like his tongue was lashing instead of licking. Her hands were in his hair, gripping and pulling and pressing him down. 

He licked up her folds and nibbled on her full lips, and found his way back to her little bud, swollen and waiting for him to consume. He sucked like he wanted to milk her dry. 

His fingers slipped in her quim, and a desperate, “Gah!” escaped her lips. He worked her body now, confident in his memory of her pleasure, yet surprised to find her even more responsive to his roughness when he lost control.

“Jamie!” she screamed in a hush as her body quaked, and her quim squeezed his fingers until she lay spent. He licked up and savored her pleasure, never knowing what might ever stop him from tasting her again.

His pulsing cock scraped across the floor and demanded to be served. He crawled over her little body covering her entirely. He both regretted her wee size in fear that he might crush her, and yet, selfishly relished how it inflated his sense of masculinity. 

Her eyes were in a dreamy state of euphoria, like she was floating on a cloud of blissful satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to drag her back down to Earth and into the same state of hunger and need that he was feeling in that moment. He yanked her from her cloud by the hips and thrust himself inside until his cock hit her womb. 

“Agh!” He didn’t mean to be so loud, but he’d lost control. She pulled his mouth to hers and swallowed the grunts that came with each ram of his hips. It didn’t take long; only a dozen or so thrusts before his seed shot deep inside. 

He never felt more her master than when he lay over her, having just used her roughly, filling her with his spunk. But the gleam in her eyes as she met her climax yet again told him it was she who was the master of him. Damn it all to hell, he couldn’t deny her command over his soul.

God, she was beautiful! She was panting for breath, flush, and sweaty, and she never looked more alive. 

“Oh God, Claire, ye’re here!” he erupted in sobs. “Ye’re with me. My wife, my love!” He cried into her neck, refusing to pull out his cock from her quim.

She cradled him in her arms and stroked his cheeks. He’d forgotten he’d shaved his face until her soft hands moved smooth over the sensitive skin. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek, savoring the feel of her truly being there with him once again.

“I love ye, my Sassenach.”

________________________

They’d fallen asleep tangled together on the floor. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Brianna’s cries roused them.

“Mama! Daddy!”

Jamie jumped to his feet and reached for his dirk. His eyes scanned the room as Claire stood up and rushed to the bed. 

“I’m here, darling. It’s alright.”

Satisfied there was no imminent danger, Jamie washed himself with the soap and water that had long since gone cold before joining his wife and child in bed. Brianna was whimpering about wanting her Daddy...Frank. Though it grieved him to no end that Frank had been more a parent to the child than he ever had a chance to be, he felt sick over wean’s heartache. 

He sat on Brianna’s other side and lay back against the pillows, fearful of intruding on her grief, but ever ready to be present should she wish. He watched Claire cradle the child against her bosom and murmur soothing words of comfort. 

He knew the comfort of his wife’s embrace, having been there a dozen times himself. Gratitude filled him that his child was born from such a woman. He watched as Brianna’s cries shifted from whimpers to sniffles, then from sniffles to the slow, easy breathing of someone deep at rest. Claire followed closely behind, synchronized with the child of her womb.

He edged nearer, quiet and steady so not to disturb them, but craving the closeness denied to him by Time itself for so many years. He listened to the gentle rhythm of their sleep and found his consciousness drifting along with them.

_________________________

A butterfly fluttered around and tickled Jamie’s cheek. Halfway between sleep and consciousness, he held still so he wouldn’t disturb the little creature as it moved around his face. It fluttered over his eyebrows and lashes. It skimmed his lips and ran along his jaw. He was completely still until it tickled the little hairs at the edge of his nose. He blew out to chase the little insect away before it crawled inside. 

A reactive giggle startled him awake. A pair of bright, blue eyes danced in delight. It wasn’t a butterfly, but a small hand feeling the contours of his face.

“Good morning, Da,” the wee thing said before he had time to recall the events of the night before. It took him a moment to find his words.

“Good morning, lass.” He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear, arising to his daughter’s smiling face. She was sitting with her legs crossed in a fashion only young weans and acrobats could manage. 

“Your beard is gone,” she said.

“Aye. Ye remember it from last night?”

She nodded.

“I shaved it while ye slept.”

“Why?”

“Oh, weel, I guess I wanted to look nice for you and your Ma.”

She smiled sweetly. “She thought you died. I’m glad you’re not dead.”

He chuckled and touched the tip of her nose, “So am I, come to that.” A few locks of hair were falling in Brianna’s face, so he curled them around her ear. “Ye’ve got beautiful hair, a leannan.”

She giggled, “It looks just like yours!”

“Aye. But it’s all the better on ye, lass.”

Jamie sat up against the headboard and looked over his lassies. Claire was still fast asleep. Her mouth was slightly open, and a bit of spittle was pooling on the pillow.

“Mama’s sleepy. Daddy says we shouldn’t wake her. She needs rest to care for her patients at the hospital.”

“Oh, aye. We’ll let her sleep, then. God knows she’s had to stitch me up a time or two.” He held out his stiff hand so Brianna could see. “She fixed me right up, ye ken.”

“How’d you get your ouchie?”

“Oh, I just got it smashed, is all.”

“In the big battle?”

“Nah. I got this one in the big battle.” He moved the length of his long shirt to show part of his scar on his thigh. He was pleased with her lack of revulsion. She just stared with wide-eyed interest. 

Her little belly began making an awful racket. “Ye hungry, a nighean? Shall we go down and see what we can find for breakfast?”

She looked to her mother and shook her head, “No, thank you.”

“Ye dinna want to leave yer Ma?”

Brianna just scooted closer to Claire, and, feeling her child nearby, the sleeping mother wrapped an arm around the bairn’s middle and pulled her close.

“Shall I bring ye something, then? Perhaps I’ll be able to scrounge up some sausages.”

She nodded enthusiastically. 

“Alright, then. Watch over yer Ma, and I’ll be back with something to fill yer belly.”

Jamie tracked down his trousers and slipped them on. As he clubbed back his hair, Brianna asked, “Where did your skirt go?”

“My kilt, ye mean? Oh, the English dinna let us wear the plaid anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They’re afraid, ye ken. The kilt makes us Highlanders stronger.”

“Mommy and Daddy are English.”

“Aye, but in yer mommy and daddy’s time, the English are the good ones, huh? In this time, if ye see a man in a red coat, ye must run and hide, aye? Let yer Da take care of them. They’re verra dangerous.”

“Aye, aye,” she said.

Jamie chuckled as he left the room. The novelty of joy consumed him. A month ago, his life was over...even days ago, he was certain he’d spend the rest of his life in prison, if not on his way to the noose. Now, he was laughing with his daughter and making love to his wife.

“Milord!” said Fergus, bounding over to him as he reached the kitchen. His grin was infectious. “Milady is well this morning? And the child?”

“Aye. Claire is resting, and Brianna is reluctant to leave her side. I’ve come to bring them food.”

“Of course. I’m sure it was a long journey.” Fergus grabbed his arm and asked hopefully, “Does this mean you’re staying? You’ll not turn yourself in to the redcoats?”

“I’m afraid I can no longer do such a thing. We’ll have to find another way to feed Lallybroch.” 

Fergus didn’t try to hide his relief.

“I’ll need yer help, lad. Ye’ll remember Claire has a habit of falling into trouble wherever she goes. I need ye to care for yer Lady and our child.”

“Aye, Milord. Upon my honor.”

“Good lad.”

They were interrupted by a soft cough to Jamie’s right. Mary McNab was holding a breakfast tray with three bowls of parritch out to Jamie. Her eyes were cast straight down, avoiding contact with him at all cost. “Here ye are...for yer wife and bairn. Shall I bring it up?”

“I thank ye, but I’ll take it myself.” The idea of having Claire near the woman who so recently offered herself to him made him tense.

“Jamie!” said Ian, hobbling in for his breakfast with Jenny at his side, “Dear God, how long has it been since I’ve seen you in the house before suppertime?”

“Having a reason to get up in the morning helps.”

His brother-in-law clapped him hard on the back. “A bairn, Jamie. A wee lassie of yer own. They’re alive, just as ye said.”

“Aye. And she’s a canny wee lass.”

“Thank Claire for that!” he teased. “And she looks just like ye, favoring yer mother, ken.”

“And she has the bonniest blue eyes ye’ll have ever seen.”

“She is a beauty,” said Jenny. “I never thought I’d see the day ye held yer own wean, brother.”

“Neither did I. Ye ken I expected my future to be holding nothing but shackles.”

“So we can forget about yer fool of a plan to get yerself locked up or hanged, and ye can focus on how to take care of yer wee family.” Jenny looked over the tray of food in his hands. “What the devil ye tryin’ to feed yer bairn her first morning wi’ her Auntie?”

She grabbed the tray, grumbling about giving the poor child more than plain parritch and unbuttered bannocks. Jamie watched her hunt down some sausages and honey and a great dollop of fresh butter. The sounds and smells of pork sausage frying over the fire drew all manner of people into the kitchen.

Young Jamie had sauntered in and tried grabbing for a link. 

“Ouch!” He rubbed his knuckles where he earned himself a swat with a wooden spoon.

“Keep yer filthy paws off yer cousin’s breakfast,” said his mother. “The poor wee lassie traveling for days to a strange place and looking sae thin. Grab yourself some parritch.”

A small noise behind him had Jamie turning around. Claire was standing there watching him. The sight of her took his breath clear out of his lungs. She had that look in her eye...the one that told him she was admiring him...that she wouldn’t mind if he dragged her upstairs and had his wicked way with her before the day started…

But a little figure poked her head out from behind her mother. Her eyes were wide as she took in all the people filling the kitchen.

Jamie beckoned his wife and child forward. He kissed Claire with a soft intimacy that may not have been appropriate for the crowded kitchen, but five years was too long a time to be worried about social customs. 

She was dressed in the clothes she’d left in her trunk at Lallybroch from before. Jenny must’ve had them brought to her room. Brianna was given one of his niece’s dresses that fit her well enough.

He’d need to find a way to support his family...to give them things of their own…

Brianna reached for his hand, seemingly drawn to his ease around these new people. 

“Yer Auntie Jenny is finishing a special breakfast for ye.” He lifted his daughter, and she brought her face close to his, ready to hide in his neck should anyone come too close.

“Well good morning, wee one!” said Jenny. “The two of ye come sit and get to eating. Ye must be starved traveling sae far.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” said Claire. “Use your manners, darling,” she instructed Brianna.

“Thank you,” said Brianna, barely audible to even Jamie whose ear was right next to her mouth.

Everyone sat down to eat together—a rare occurrence for breakfast in such a busy house—and did their best not to overwhelm Brianna and Claire with overt staring or further interrogation. Brianna sat between her parents and was eating up breakfast with glee, tired of the same food for days on end.

“Here,” she offered Jamie one of her prized sausages.

“Mmmm, thank ye, lass. Tell me, what did ye eat for breakfast at yer auld house?”

“Sugar Smacks and Frosty O’s.”

“What on Earth is that?”

She giggled, “Cereal, silly.”

“They’re dried, sugary bits of processed grains that children soak in milk. They’re quite popular...where Brianna is from.”

Jamie could see all the restrained faces in the room trying not to ask the follow up question of where exactly they were from. He could tell that none of them thought the answer was really, “Boston.”

“And how about sausages?” said Jamie, feeding her a piece of the one she gave him. “Did you ha’ them there, too?”

She giggled, “Of course, we did. Daddy liked them.”

The table grew still and all eyes turned to see Jamie’s reaction to this news of his daughter having another father. 

“Well, of course he did. They’re delicious, and Frank was a sensible man, was he no?” said Jamie, effectively putting to rest whether or not he knew of Claire’s other husband.

Fergus, who was sitting across from Brianna, said smiling, “So, you’re lucky enough to have two fathers, then?”

Brianna nodded quietly, cheeks filled with a fresh bite of sweetened parritch.

“Very lucky, indeed, to have such an abundance,” Fergus went on. “I did not have the pleasure of any fathers when I was your age. Could you imagine?”

Brianna looked horrified at the thought.

“Well,” said Claire, “you have one now, and that’s all that matters.”

Fergus stared at Claire with his mouth agape. The poor lad must not have realized it was how everyone saw him...as Jamie’s son. Jamie chided himself for allowing that to happen. He didn’t think himself worthy of being any sort of father the last five years.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, eyes connecting with the lad. 

Fergus flushed bright red and dropped his head as though very interested in the consistency of his breakfast.

“Ye should have yer Da take ye out to see the horses, lassie,” said Ian. “He’s a right good hand wi’ em, and we’ve got a new foal sired by yer Da’s old horse, Donas.”

“A baby horsie?” she looked at Jamie with bright, eager eyes.

He laughed, “Aye, we’ll go look after ye eat.”

For a moment, she seemed delighted at the prospect, until her face froze with a look of fear. She looked at her mother, then dropped her eyes to her lap. “Oh, no thank you. I’ll stay here with Mama.”

“Don’t you want to see the baby horse?” said Claire. “And I’m sure Dorothy misses you, too.”

Brianna grabbed Claire’s arm like she was afraid she’d be pulled away from her at any moment. Jamie understood her reluctance. The poor lass just lost a father, and she was not going to let her mother out of her sight for fear the same thing may happen again.

“Dinna fash, a leannan. Yer Ma will come wi’ us. She’s no afraid of gettin’ a wee bit dirty.”

“Please, Mama?”

“Of course.”

Brianna pushed her plate back and said, “I’m all done with breakfast. Can we go now?”

“In a minute, darling. Be patient.”

Brianna squirmed in her seat as she waited for her parents to stuff their faces. 

“Claire,” said Ian, “ye still practicing yer healing? And yer gardening? I know the plants here ha’ missed ye. We can hardly grow the tatties, much less all the vegetables and the herbs ye made us eat.”

“Yes,” she said. “I still practice healing from time to time, and I still force everyone to eat their vegetables.”

“Mama’s a doctor!” said Brianna. “She can fix anyone.”

“A doctor?” said Jenny. “I didna realize they let women into universities in America.”

Claire put a hand on Brianna’s arm to stop her from speaking more. “I guess I’m a little ahead of my Time.” She turned to Jamie. “Are you ready to see that foal?”

He chuckled lightly, “Aye. Fergus, ye’ll come when ye finish yer breakfast, aye?”

“I’m done, Milord,” Fergus said, spooning what was left of his bowl into his mouth, so eager he was to come along.

Claire took their plates and cleaned them up before heading outside. The dogs rushed Jamie when they walked out. Brianna was nearly trampled with him, but she didn’t seem bothered. She looked right well enamoured by the massive beast of a hound that was larger than the newborn foal. Jamie lifted Brianna in one arm and carried her away from the eager dogs. “Sheas!” he commanded them to settle. 

Fergus grabbed a stick and launched it far out into the field, sending the dogs running after it.

“Good man,” said Jamie, patting him on the back. Fergus waved him off, but couldn’t hide beaming with pride. 

It was a bright and sunny morning, a perfect day for a walk outside with his family. He set Brianna down so she could familiarize herself with the land. She took off after Fergus who ran about picking up rocks and sticks to throw them. Jamie grabbed Claire around the waist and drew her in as they walked.

“I haven’t felt this alive in ages,” he said to his wife.

“I know. To think yesterday I was terrified of having to do this all alone. And now,” she looked up at him, “everything is perfect.”

“Weel, close to perfect. There’s still the bit about me being a wanted man.”

“You’ve been a wanted man since I met you.”

“Aye, but I havena been a father before now. We canna be on the run wi’ a wean. I’ll no do that to her.”

“What will we do? Where will we go?”

“I dinna ken. We canna stay here, and we canna return to France while Louis is alive.”

“And we can’t go to America. It won’t be another twenty plus years until America declares its independence from the English.”

“Aye. What do ye think about Italy or Portugal? Jared has connections there. I could help him wi’ his wine and spirits.”

“As far as I know, nothing too notable happens in Italy until the late 1700s. The Portuguese, however, have a devastating Earthquake coming in a few years, and the Spanish invade in another decade or so. Italy sounds like the safer bet as far as war and natural disasters go. And I can practice medicine anywhere...so long as I can communicate with my patients.”

“Och, Italian is easy enough to learn. It’s no much different from French.”

She rolled her eyes at his dismissal of a language being a barrier of any sort. He hoped the wean would have an easy time off learning different tongues as he did.

“We’ll figure a way to get the coin for travel and be gone as soon as we can,” he said. “Jenny and Ian canna afford to have me out in the open around Lallybroch for too long.”

“We don’t have to wait, Jamie.”

“What d’ye mean? I’ll no have Brianna sleeping weeks out in the heather.”

“I brought some money with us. Gold, too. Quite enough for a happy, stable life in the Italian countryside. Perhaps even making our own wine.”

“Really? How much?”

“Remember the weight of my dress last night? You thought I’d filled it with rocks. My cloak is just as full.”

His jaw dropped wide. “That was gold, Sassenach?”

She nodded grinning, “And coin.”

“We could really do this, then? We could start a new life? A new dream?”

Claire stopped him in his tracks and looked up at him with adoring eyes. “I’d follow you anywhere, James Fraser. Pockets full gold or not.”

Her words made his heart strong and his knees weak. He dropped his forehead to her in gratitude. 

“Come onnn!” said Brianna. “I wanna see the horsies!”

“Hmphm,” he chuckled. “She’s as demanding as a wee Charles Stuart.”

“She drinks less though, and is far more sensible.”

Jamie and Claire followed Brianna and Fergus into the stables. Fergus lifted the lass so she could see over the gate. 

“Mama! Mama! Do you see the baby?!”

“Oh, yes! She’s beautiful!”

“Aye,” said Fergus. “She looks just like her sire.”

_____________________

It took only a suggestion from Jamie for Brianna to agree to a ride on Donas. He was a damn, fine battle horse, but the poor bastard hardly got use anymore outside the farm. But riding Donas with her father was the only way Brianna would agree to leave Claire’s side.

He took her out every day, sometimes twice a day. He loved to hear her scream with delight when they raced at high speeds. Never did he dream of riding with his child like this, the way he’d once done with his own father. 

He remembered riding into Lallybroch on Donas so many years ago with Claire in his arms. Now it was Brianna.

When they arrived back and the stables, Claire would always be leaning against the wall watching them with a sweet contentment in her eyes. Jamie would show Brianna how to tend to the horse before and after a ride, her eyes focused and determined to learn for herself. She was nearly as fond of the animals as he was.

Then, they’d go in the house for supper, spend an evening with the family, then retire to their room. As soon as Brianna fell asleep curled up between her mother and father, her parents would sneak out of bed and find a place to make love before returning back to bed and sleeping as a family.

A week after they arrived at Lallybroch was the first time Brianna ventured away from her mother when she wasn’t on a horse and went upstairs to play with her cousins, Maggie and Kitty, in their room. When the girls didn’t return back down to the parlor, Jamie went up and found them all curled up in bed.

For the first time in over five years, he and his wife had a bed to themselves.

“Eager tonight, are you?” asked Claire, with laughter in her voice.

Jamie had her lying in bed before all their clothes were removed. He was pulling at her laces with all the finesse of an elephant. “Aye. My knees canna handle another night on that bloody rug!”

“Your knees? How about my arse? I’m still pulling splinters out of it from last night in the broom closet.”

He laughed as he finally pulled her stays free and started working on her shift. When he finally got her naked, it was a rush to shove his cock inside her. Upon that first impact of his hips, he took a deep sigh of relief just to be inside his woman.

“Did you ever consider how luxurious our dreams were?” she asked. “Making love in any bed within sight? Indoors and out?”

“I dinna ken if I’d call making love in the heather or dining hall of Leoch ‘luxurious’,” he laughed. 

“I don’t know if we could call what I did to you in the dining hall ‘making love.’”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But it was verra appropriate that whatever ye’d call it occurred in the DINING hall, seein’ as how your used yer mouth...”

She laughed so hard, he nearly fell out. 

“God, to hear ye laugh, Sassenach. ’Tis the real dream...lying here with ye.”

“We get to keep making our dreams, Jamie. Italy. Wine country. Sunsets and horse rides.”

“Ye ken my worry about living a dream?”

“What?”

“The waking up.” He felt a heavy weight in his chest.

“‘The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose.’ Even if this dream ends, another will take its place.”

Jamie nuzzled her nose. “Aye, but as I grow older, it’s harder to endure the disappointment of a dream unfulfilled.”

She kissed him deeply. “Then fill me up before we wake…”

___________________

“When will we leave?” she asked the next day.

“First thing in the morning. We canna tarry any longer, as much as I’ll miss Lallybroch.”

Jamie and Claire watched Fergus and Brianna riding Donas across a field of heather. 

“I’m glad she was able to spend some time here...to know the home your father built for your mother.”

“Aye.” Jamie kissed his wife’s temple. “’Twas a fortunate thing, this time here. But more fortunate still is a future with my family rather than rotting in an English prison wi’ a bunch of doomed Highlanders.”

Her hand caressed his cheek. “Do you miss them? Your people?”

“Hmphm.” He very much did...especially Murtagh. “Come. Let’s return for supper. Jenny will be none too pleased if we missed our last meal as a family.”

Jamie whistled to Fergus to head back to the house. He and Brianna rode around as Jamie and Claire walked together hand and hand.

He was surprised to see the dogs didn’t raise a fuss when they got close to the house. Fergus and Brianna were out in the stables tending to Donas as they walked into the yard. 

“Stop right there!” said a voice to their right. A spot of bright red against a backdrop of green had Jamie’s gut clenching. And just like that...the sun set on his Italian dream.

He had too much fear for his family for the inevitable dread to set in quite yet.

A redcoat stood there with a pistol in his hand, pointing it at the center of Jamie’s chest. Another red coat flanked his right side. Jamie pulled Claire behind him and blocked her from sight.

“Red Jamie,” said the captain. “So it’s true. We heard tell your wife and daughter came back for you. Where is the child? They say she looks just like you.”

“Leave them out of this. Ye’re here for me. Come and be done wi’ it.”

“In a moment. My other men are searching the premises.”

“What’s there to search? I am right here, ken.”

“Your family has been harboring a traitor. They’re gathering evidence.”

“They’ve done no such thing. As ye said, I heard my wife and child had come back from America, so I ventured home to see if the story was true. I only just arrived.”

The captain smirked a cocky grin. “A likely story.” 

“Look, we dinna want trouble. I just wanted to see my lassie one more time. Let her be gone, and I’ll go wi’ ye wi’out any fuss.”

Claire grabbed his arm, “Jamie!”

He silenced her with a look. “Brianna needs ye, Sassenach.”

She was shaking her head back and forth with a look of utter despair in her eyes. He knew. He understood. They were so close. If they’d only left a day sooner. 

There was truly nothing he could do. If he put up a fight, everyone he loved would be at the mercy of the English. If he killed the redcoats and left for Italy with Brianna and Claire, Jenny and Ian would be targeted.

“Claire.” He hugged her fiercely and breathed in her scent. “I love ye, mo nighean donn.”

“No, Jamie. You can’t let them take you.” She pleaded. “I can’t lose you again.”

“All isna lost. Take care of Brianna...and Fergus.”

“I’ll come for you,” she whispered in his ear. “Like Fort William.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing. We’ve the bairns to think of now.” He kissed her softly, then once again more firm. 

When he backed away, the flanking officer grabbed hold of Claire’s arm and pulled her away. She tried fighting him off, but his grip was too strong. “Jamie!”

He watched his wife being pulled away, and he stood still and did nothing for fear of losing her with more finality. She yelled his name and tears fell down her cheeks. All he could hope was Fergus would keep Brianna away, and none he loved would be harmed.

That hope was crushed when a flash of dark hair charged from behind a nearby tree. Fergus swung a spade, hitting the captain in the back. The captain was stunned, but not injured. He pulled his sword out of his scabbard and swung a broad stroke.

“No!” yelled Jamie. Brianna, Claire, Jenny, the bairns. If he fought back it would be worse for everyone...but Fergus…

Fergus was crying out and holding his left arm. Blood was splattering everywhere.

“He’s a child!” said Jamie, falling to his knees to find the source of the bleeding. Fergus’s hand was nearly severed off. Jamie pulled off his belt and improvised a tourniquet. 

“He’s hardly a child. He must be fifteen, at least,” scoffed the captain.

“’Tis alright, lad,” said Jamie. “Claire is here. She’s fix ye up like she did me, aye?”

Fergus lay moaning and crying and yelling out in pain.

“Let me bring him to the house so he can be tended,” Jamie pleaded.

“I see no reason to do so. He assaulted a captain in His Majesty's Army.”

“I’ll come wi’ ye. I’ll no put up any fight. Please. The boy is my son! Let me assure his welfare, and I give my word I’ll not struggle.”

“Your word of honor, Mr. Fraser?”

“Aye, ye have my word.”

“Very well. Get him into the house, and come directly back. No dawdling.”

Jamie lifted Fergus and ran with' him inside. “Where’s the lass?” Jaime asked.

“In the stall with the foal, Milord. You cannot let them take you.”

“Fergus!” yelled Claire, pulling away from the officer when she saw the blood. 

Jamie brought him to the dining room table and lay him down. Claire was already shouting orders to their nieces and nephews and tending to Fergus’s wound. He watched as his foster son lost consciousness on the table, blood flowing from his arm. “Fergus…”

“Come, Mr. Fraser,” said the captain’s voice behind him. Jamie hadn’t realized the captain followed him in. With a silent order, the captain led Jamie and his men out of the house. There were five redcoats in total. 

As two of the men shackled Jamie, the captain came closer and spoke with a maliciousness laced with perverse humor. “I agreed to let your boy be tended, Mr. Fraser, in exchange for your cooperation.”

“And I thank ye, sir.”

“I did not, however, make any such agreement in regard to your wife.”

Jamie felt as though he was submerged in an ice cold creek. Not Claire. “NO!” he yelled.

“I’m afraid you and your family require a lesson on what it means to respect the laws of the King and those serving in His name.”

“If you lay one hand on my wife…” Jamie growled.

“You’ll do nothing,” he interrupted. “Or we’ll come back for your son and daughter, as well.”

“No. No. Ye canna…”

“Lieutenant!” commanded the captain. “Mrs. Fraser is the one with the mop of curly, brown hair. See to it Mr. Fraser and the rest of his family understand the consequences of striking out against the Crown.”

“NO!! Claire!!” Jamie yelled. He fought against his shackles with all his might. He rammed a shoulder into one of the officers, and as he tried throwing off another, he was struck with the handle of a pistol in the back of the head, and all went dark.

As they dragged him out the gate, his consciousness began to clear. He heard the lieutenant telling the captain, “She’s dead, sir. Only took one bullet.”

“Did you check her pulse?”

“Yes, sir. She’s gone.”

“Good. A fine example to set for any Highlanders harboring traitors.”

Jamie collapsed on the ground replaying the lieutenant’s words in his mind, “She’s dead...Only took one bullet...She’s gone.”

“Claire…” he cried. She was gone. “Sassenach…”


	9. Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split the last 2 chapters into 4 due to length and sheer amount of story left. I thought you'd want an update sooner rather than later. There will be 3 more chapters after this (unless I change my mind and combine them again LOL).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Restraint  
___________________

A benefit of being a town infested with redcoats was that there was very little criminal activity to be wary of from the villagers. However, no one was there to regulate the redcoats. This was a situation I had every intention of taking advantage of.

I was sitting in a small tavern in the village of Ardsmuir waiting for the governor of the prison to arrive for our meeting, and, hopefully, he wouldn’t be alone. I stopped myself from ordering another drink. I couldn’t be impaired...not tonight.

Six months. It had been six fucking months since Jamie was taken from me. Wasn’t five years already enough?!

I steadied my breathing. It would do me no service to be agitated tonight. I had bribed the governor of Ardsmuir a small fortune in gold to bring me Jamie. He was due any moment. 

Our Italian dream was growing more modest by the day as the weight of the gold we carried grew lighter and lighter. I’d left half the gold with Jenny and Ian to help care for the family and their tenants since we would likely never see them again if all worked out. Brianna, Fergus, and I had been living frugally on what was left for the last three months, and I had recently used half of the remainder to bribe the governor to sneak Jamie out of the prison.

I hated the idea of Jamie imprisoned. And what made things worse, I was certain he thought me dead. I couldn’t imagine his despair, being locked up, thinking his wife killed, his son maimed, and his daughter orphaned. That was one of the worst days of my life, and I could only imagine what it had done to Jamie. 

I kept replaying the events of that day in my head over and over. We went from blissfully happy to utterly destroyed in moments. The redcoats pulling me away from Jamie, tearing apart Lallybroch and tormenting the Murrays...Jamie running in with a bloody and unconscious Fergus...Hearing a scream of terror and a gunshot, Mary McNab being shot...Young Jamie overhearing the redcoat mistake her for me...my Jamie taken away in shackles...Brianna hiding in the foal’s stall, sobbing uncontrollably for her parents.

I couldn’t follow the red coats right away, either. Fergus nearly died more than once. I couldn’t leave him. 

I sent Ian to track down where they’d taken Jamie. It took MONTHS to find him. Since Jamie had escaped prison before (more than once), the redcoats were keeping his location strictly confidential. Ian was finally able to bribe a guard at Wentworth into discovering he was being held at Ardsmuir. I’d packed up what little we had and set off with Dorothy and Brianna to find a way to get my husband back. Fergus followed behind on Donas, stubbornly refusing to leave his Lady’s side. He insisted Jamie would expect him to care for me and Brianna.

I had to admit, Fergus was a blessing. There were just some things in the 18th century that having a man around was helpful for...certain transactions and access to various locations where people might have valuable information (brothels and such). Not to mention, he was better at sneaking around and spying than some of the best officers of British Intelligence in WWII. He was fiercely loyal and a devoted caregiver to Brianna. They had already begun to call each other brother and sister. He was watching her for me at the inn while I went to the tavern to meet the governor. He guarded her fiercely with a loaded pistol on the nightstand.

I grew restless the longer I waited. I noticed that when I was without Jamie, one of two emotions drowned out the presence of all others: fear and despair. Despair whenever I thought him dead, and fear when I knew him to be alive and suffering without me.

I tried reaching Jamie in my dreams every time I fell asleep, but either the unconscious connection that bound us across space and time didn’t work when we were in the same century, or he thought me dead and just wasn’t trying.

Hours ticked by in the tavern, and there was no sign of the governor. I was growing ever more certain I had just been robbed. 

Then again, perhaps I missed him? Maybe he came into the tavern and left? I flagged down the owner and asked, “Have you seen Governor Quarry this evening?”

“No, Mistress. Quarry left town two days ago, did ye no hear? The young Lord John William Grey has taken his first command at the prison.”

My heart dropped to the floor and was trampled by the dozen patrons of the filthy tavern. My only flare of hope over the last six months was just extinguished.

I’m not certain how I made it back to the inn. I just remember seeing the look of disappointment on Fergus’s face when I arrived without his father.

“Do not worry, Milady. I will go tomorrow and find out all I can about this new governor. We still have enough gold for a bribe. If not, we will break him out ourselves...like you did at Wentworth.”

I hugged him tight and kissed his crown. “Jamie would be very proud of you, Fergus. Get some rest. You have work to do in the morning.”

_________________________

A blizzard tore through the village overnight. Though I didn’t feel comfortable sending Fergus out in the cold the next morning, he insisted. I watched his slim and delicate frame walk down the street in the direction of the prison. The blacksmith in Broch Mordha was able to fashion him a hook that Fergus found rather useful to replace his missing hand, but he kept it hidden in the pocket of his cloak when walking in public. Fergus was frequently mistaken for younger due to his build, but he was a man by the day’s standards, and far more resilient than most gave him credit for. 

And we were desperate...So, I watched the son of my heart set off to find information that might save his father.

I spent the morning tutoring Brianna, terrified that if I didn’t attend to her education, her formative learning would be at the hands of a pickpocket/spy and would contain little in the way of literature, science, and mathematics. We’d both given up by noon. We’d played about forty-seven games of tic-tac-toe and created our own checkerboard with pieces of paper. By sunset, I was staring nonstop out the dark window waiting for Fergus to return.

“Milady?” he called from the other side of the door hours later.

I rushed over and let him in. Snow covered his cloak, so I helped him out of it and hung it up to dry by the fire. 

“Have you eaten?” I asked. 

“No, Milady. Is there anything left of supper?”

I brought him a plate of bread and cheese and a mug of ale.

“What did you find about Lord John Grey?”

He scarfed down a few bites of food and chugged his drink to wash it down. He let out a slow breath in a way that I couldn’t decipher if what he found was good news or bad. It faded into a laugh that was even more puzzling than the sigh. “You’ve met him before.”

“What?”

“At Prestonpans. Do you remember the boy who tried to kill Milord when he was pissing in the woods?”

My mind replayed that night as best it could, “The young man who thought Jamie was trying to rape me?”

“Aye. That’s him.”

I couldn’t decide on the implications of that information. “He owes Jamie a debt for sparing his life,” I said.

“His brother, Lord Melton, discharged that debt when he sent Milord back to Lallybroch after Culloden.”

“Right.” I cringed. I tried to remember all I could about the chivalrous and brave boy in the woods who tried to save me from my loving, yet devious husband. “That idealistic young man didn’t seem the type to be susceptible to a bribe.”

“It doesn’t seem as though he’s changed much, unfortunately.”

“Did you find out anything else about him?”

“Only that he was inquiring about church services on Sunday.”

“Church? A pious man, you think?”

“I do not know, Milady.”

A plan started forming in my head. “Do you think he’d remember me from that night?”

Fergus smiled, “I can’t imagine it would be possible for him to forget.”

It was decided, then. “It looks like I’m attending the Church of England this Sunday.”

____________________

Lord John Grey sat in the forwardmost pew. The young man had filled out quite well in the last five years. He was tall, handsome, and, above all, very elegant. Each of his movements were lithe and deliberate. His manners were impeccable and his countenance agreeable.

How on Earth did such a man get stuck with a command like Ardsmuir?

When the service ended, I waited by the door until I drew near. As he walked by, I raised a hand and said, “Pardon me, sir.”

Lord John stopped abruptly and turned, no doubt surprised to hear an Englishwoman in a place like Ardsmuir. “Hello, madam. How may I be of service?”

I smiled naturally at his pleasant formality. This young man once tried to defend my honor...I was quite disposed to like him for the gesture (as long as I didn’t think about him governing over Jamie in prison). “My apologies, sir, but I feel quite certain we’ve met before.”

His dashing blue eyes raked me up and down. To his credit, his assessment of me was in no way lewd or vulgar, but that of curiosity. I saw the exact moment recognition clicked in his mind. “Madam,” he smiled brightly. “It is a pleasure to see you well.”

“We have met before, then? I was quite certain of it, though the particulars escape me.”

He gently grasped my elbow and led me off to the side so we could speak more privately. “I am Lord John Grey. Recently instated Governor of Ardsmuir Prison.”

“A pleasure. My name is Elizabeth Beauchamp. Pray tell, where is it we’ve met before?”

He chuckled uncomfortably, “Well, Mistress Beauchamp, I’m afraid our last encounter was quite humiliating for me. I rarely speak of the incident. However, I think you might be the only person in the world who would understand the motivation of my actions that night. We met just before the battle at Prestonpans. I happened upon the traitorous rebel leader, ‘Red Jamie.’ He was attempting to…”

“Oh dear! Of course. You’re the young man who saved me from that barbarian.” I covered my face in false shame. “Pardon me, that wasn’t very Christian to speak of the man in such a way...even one who's engaged in such depraved acts as Red Jamie.”

“Yes, madam. I was the young man who gave information leading to the loss of the battle for fear he would bring you harm. I have wondered whatever became of you.”

I smiled, “Well, I am a healer, Lord John. My husband and I were traveling through Scotland attempting to educate and convert the papists to the Church of England. Frank was a minister in Oxfordshire, you see, and I was a healer. Much to my surprise, the brutal and uncivilized Scots—forgive me again for speaking of them as such—kidnapped me, and took me with them to battle to exploit my healing skills.”

“How very troublesome to hear, Madam. And what became of your husband?”

“Oh, he died of pneumonia that winter.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you, very much. You are too kind. I’m afraid I owe you a great deal more gratitude, Lord John. Your valiant intervention helped me retain my honor while in Scottish custody.”

“I’m much obliged. Praytell, what brings you to Ardsmuir?”

“Oh, sir, my mission in life has not changed since my husband passed. In fact, my experiences incarcerated by the Scots have only helped strengthen my resolve to bring truth, religion, and civilization to the barbarians...forgive me, the Scottish people. I continue traveling the countryside, attending to their medicinal needs, and spreading the word of God. I came to Ardsmuir because these men seem most in need of both spiritual and medicinal intervention. I was hoping to donate my time and expertise to the prisoners in order to properly serve the Lord.”

Lord John seemed quite taken aback by my speech. I had practiced it with Fergus in the days prior to ensure my transparent face would not give me away. Fortunately, our previous experience of being allies together at Prestonpans, along with Lord John’s good humor and natural inclination toward trust (particularly of the fairer sex, I’d assume), made him more susceptible to believing my story.

“Mistress Beauchamp, how very noble.”

“Tell me, Lord John, do the prisoners have access to medical care and spiritual counsel?”

“I am afraid not. A physician for the prisoners is low on the priority list, financially speaking.”

“Dear me. So if one of them falls ill, there is no one to tend to them?”

“Only other prisoners.”

“Well, thank goodness I’ve arrived. It appears this meeting has been most fortuitous. I can only assume it is the will of God.”

He considered my words and nodded, “Many of the prisoners have taken ill since the weather turned. You can hardly walk amongst the cells without being coughed or sneezed upon. It would be a relief to both the prisoners and the guards if you could lend your services. However, I’m afraid there won’t be anything in the way of compensation.”

“Do not fret about payment. My husband left me a modest living. The only compensation I need is what could be given solely by the Lord himself.”

“Your generosity is incomparable, madam. Tell me, we don’t have much to spare in the way of supplies, but is there anything you may require to attend to your patients?”

“Just a private space for examinations and interventions. Somewhere that I can have a fire going to boil water, brew medicines, and sterilize instruments. A desk and a bed or two wouldn’t be refused if available. I will bring all my own instruments and medicines.”

“That sounds perfectly doable. When shall we expect you? I could have your space available as early as tomorrow. I fear some of the prisoners may need your intervention rather urgently.”

Yes, I was growing rather fond of Lord John. “I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

__________________________

I arrived at the prison just after sunrise the next morning. Lord John was ever polite and amiable as he led me to my new makeshift clinic in an old room deep within the prison. I made mental notes of my surroundings and intended to reconstruct blueprints of the facility when I returned back to the inn. 

My clinic had a fire already burning in the fireplace and a pot of water set to boil. I was more than impressed with John’s conscientious diligence.

“I’m afraid I failed to mention something to you when you made your generous offer to attend to the prisoners,” said Lord John ominously.

“What’s that?”

“Most of the prisoners being held here at Ardsmuir belonged to the Jacobite rebellion. Some of them were even present and a party to your kidnapping. Will that be a concern for you?”

“Lord John, those men, perhaps even more than most, need to learn the mercy of our Lord. This is God’s will, and I will ever be his faithful servant.”

“I’m glad to hear it. However, I must also share that one of the prisoners is the man particularly responsible for your assault...Red Jamie himself.”

I sucked in a breath as my heart raced erratically. It was one thing to hear Jamie was located here by Ian who heard through another party, who, in turn, heard from another, who heard from another. It was entirely different to hear directly from his captor. “You’ve seen him, then?”

“Indeed. He’s only been here a short time, six months or so, but his men see him as something of a leader. They communicate to the guards through him, and his voice seems to hold particular authority. In fact, he had the utmost respect of the previous governor.”

“That sounds about right. I remember him being a dynamic young man.” I tried with all my might to school my features into a mask of either fear or indifference. I couldn’t let him see my joy. “Please, don’t worry about me and Mr. Fraser. It appears God has connected us again for an as of yet unknown reason. Perhaps I can save his soul...before it’s too late.”

“Your courage is just as impressive as your generous spirit, madam.” John touched my shoulder in encouraging affection. “I shall have a guard posted outside your door should you need anything.”

“Thank you, Lord John.”

“The pleasure is mine, madam.” He bowed out and left me to my devices. 

Lord John was not exaggerating when he reported my services were required rather urgently. My first patient was brought in shortly after by two guards who had to prop him up on each side. He was bowed over and struggling with a coughing fit. I could hear his lungs strain for air, flooded as they were with mucus and phlegm. 

“Oh dear, bring him here, quickly please.” I pointed to the bed near the fireplace.

I joined in his fit of coughing when I came close enough to smell him. He was filthy, and his reeking odor was a punch in the gut and made my eyes water. I fought back an urge to vomit and dismissed the guards so I could begin my examination of the poor soul who would most certainly die without intervention.

His dark hair was matted and possibly streaked with gray under the filth. He had a thick, full beard that must’ve taken him years to grow. His body was thin and frail, quite at a disadvantage to fight off any sort of infection.

“Hello, sir. My name is Mistress Beauchamp. I’m going to begin my examination of you, alright?”

He just stared at me with dark eyes as I started taking his vitals and listened to his lungs. There was an ominous rattling every time he took a breath. It was likely an advanced stage of pneumonia. I was going to have to use some of my precious penicillin on the poor man or he was certain to die.

I turned to the fire to grab a clean, freshly boiled rag to wipe him down. If he was going to be a patient of mine for the foreseeable future, I would have to do something about his smell.

He grabbed my arm with a surprisingly strong grip for one so close to death. For some reason, it just hit me that I was caring for prisoners...not all of whom were incarcerated for protecting their homes and families as nobly as my husband. I wondered what crime this man was here for.

“Claire…” he said in a weak, gravelly voice. “It’s you.”

I looked at the filthy man’s face with more intention. I took the cloth and wiped away the dirt, soot, and oil that covered the person beneath. The more I wiped, a gaunt, yet familiar face began taking shape.

“My God,” I said, wiping more and more. Soon, his face was as clear as mine, though far worse for the wear. “Murtagh! You’re alive! I thought you’d died at Culloden.”

He grinned and nodded, then was taken with a fit of miserable coughing. I helped him to sit upright and patted his back to loosen the mucus. When his weak, rattling breath was stable again, I hugged him, careful not to squeeze whatever air made it inside his lungs.

“Ye’re alive?” he said. “Jamie said ye’d died. The redcoats…” he erupted in a fit of coughs.

“A misunderstanding. I’m fine. So are Brianna and Fergus. Jamie’s here? You’ve seen him?”

“Aye, lass. And I canna wait to see his face when he discovers ye’re alive.”

The tears in my eyes were pure joy, and no longer had anything to do with his pungent odor. It’s funny how certain hardships are easier to endure at the hands of loved one. “Just so you know, I’m Elizabeth Beauchamp here. Lord John has allowed me to volunteer my time ministering medicine and religion to the prisoners.”

Murtagh’s chuckles turned into a fit of coughs. 

“Here, let me get you something for that cough. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

“Ye can cure me then?” he asked, surprised. Apparently, he had already resigned himself to death.

“Of course, I can. I brought medicine from my Time.”

“Convenient to have a time-traveling witch in the family,” he muttered. 

As I prepared the ephedra and the penicillin, Murtagh interrupted me. “Wait a moment, lass. Call the guard in, will ye?”

“Murtagh, we shouldn’t tarry…”

“Trust me,” he said, simply.

I went to the door and beckoned the guard. “The prisoner would like to speak with you.”

“What do you want, Fitzgibbons?” he demanded.

“This witch is tryin’ to poison me wi’ her magic potions!” he erupted in a coughing fit.

“It looks like you’re sitting on death’s doorstep, man. Let the woman assist you.”

“Nay! I’ll no let her come near me with her sharp knives and evil concoctions...not wi’out my chief lookin’ out for me.”

Genius, Murtagh! I played along, “Your chief? Who is that?”

“Seamus Mac Dubh. Bring him, guard. His wife was a famed healer. He’ll spot this black magic easily enough for what it is.”

The guard looked at him dubiously. 

I interjected, “This man will die without immediate medical intervention. Perhaps this Seamus Mac Dubh will encourage Mr. Fitzgibbons to let me treat him.”

The guard was holding onto some bit of reluctance. 

“Perhaps I should make my request to Lord John?” I proposed.

The guard turned to me and waved off the suggestion. “No, we’ll not bother the governor. It should be fine. Mac Dubh is bound in shackles and isn’t likely to cause problems. Pardon me, mistress, while I retrieve him for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The guard’s footsteps echoed down the hall. When I could no longer hear anything, I rushed to Murtagh and hugged him once again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed ye, too, lass. No one sings a jig quite like ye.”

When the footsteps returned, they were moving a little slower. I tried to listen for a second set of feet, but I couldn’t hear Jamie coming when he was walking over dried leaves in the forest, much less walking on a flat, stone surface. I pulled away from Murtagh and watched the door in anticipation, schooling my face into a mask of indifference.

I moved to the side of the room so that he’d see Murtagh first. I couldn’t have him calling out my real name or running over to hug me before he was warned.

No one could steal the breath from my lungs like James Fraser. He walked into the room just ahead of the guard. He was nearly as filthy as Murtagh, though his hands were chained in front of him while Murtagh’s were not.

“What’s this I hear, Ghoistidh? Ye’ll no let yer physician tend to ye?” said Jamie in his deep, rumbling voice. I forced myself to inhale deeply and to fight the moisture filling my eyes.

“Nay, laddie. They’ve sent a witch to come poison me…” he cut off with a fit of coughs. When he gathered his breath again, he said, “I demanded ye come keep an eye out seeing as yer wife was a healer, and ye’ll ken all about such things. I dinna ken who this Mistress Beauchamp thinks she is coming to doctor prisoners, but I dinna trust her one bit.”

There was a twinkle in Murtagh’s eye that only one who knew him well would be able to see. Jamie, on the other hand, went tense and rigid. His hand tapped restlessly at his side. “And where is this...Mistress Beauchamp?”

Murtagh turned his eyes to me, and Jamie’s head followed slowly behind. If I’d thought Murtagh’s face was gaunt with hardship and neglect, it was nothing to Jamie’s. But as soon as his eyes took me in, color and life filled his cheeks. His eyes radiated the most vivid intensity, and his mouth dropped as he sucked in a deep breath that inflated his lungs. His shoulders expanded like a weight was lifted and cast aside.

“Hello, Mister Mac Dubh, is it?” I said, forcing formality in front of the guard.

“Fraser. James Fraser, madam, at yer service,” he said softly. A subtle smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and his eyes softened to the sweetest sky blue.

“Ah yes. Red Jamie. Perhaps you remember me from Prestonpans? You and your men kidnapped me, and I was saved only by the heroic efforts of this fortunate prison’s new governor, Lord John Grey.”

“A thousand pardons, Mistress. I’m…” he took a breath, “verra pleased...to see ye well, and that our last meeting did no lasting damage to yer person.” A tear fell down his cheek, but he resisted wiping it away. The guard was standing behind him and could not see.

“Thank you, sir. Now, if you would please talk with your associate, Mr. Fitzgibbons, and convince him to allow me to intervene with his illness I could get down to the business of saving his life.”

Jamie tilted his head in an obedient bow and moved closer to Murtagh. They spoke in low tones, using only Gaelic. They weren’t speaking loud enough for me to hear, but I was certain Murtagh was filling Jamie in on what had transpired before his arrival.

“Thank you, Mister…?” I asked the guard.

“Elliot, madam.”

“Thank you, Mister Elliot. I’ll call you in if I have any further difficulties with Mr. Fitzgibbons or Mr. Fraser.”

“Yes, madam.” The guard turned to Jamie and nodded, “Mac Dubh.” I tried not to laugh at how Jamie had somehow already won the respect of not only his fellow prisoners, but the guards, as well.

As soon as the door was closed, I flew to my husband and threw my arms around him. He buried his face in my neck, unable to hold me with his hands in shackles.

“Claire,” he murmured. “How are ye here? How are ye alive?”

“I was tending to Fergus when they took you away. The officer mistook Mary McNab for me. She didn’t survive.”

“Thank the Lord ye were spared.” He dropped his head to kiss me. His lips were loving and gentle. His hands reached up to hold my face as our mouths connected in restrained reunion. When he pulled back, he looked at me long and hard to make sure I was really there. He laughed in amusement and said, “So, ye’ve fooled poor wee John Grey yet again, Sassenach?”

“He’s really a delightful young man, if not too naive for his own good. I don’t feel good about it.” Though the smile on my face likely told a different story.

“How’s Fergus? And Brianna?”

“Fergus lost his hand, but he’s healing well. He’s here at the inn watching over Brianna. We’re all safe.”

“Thank, God.” He kissed my forehead. “And ye say ye can heal Murtagh?”

“Yes. I’ve brought penicillin with me from my Time. It should fight off the infection in a day or two. I have other medicine that can ease his symptoms in the meantime.”

“A blessing, ye are, my Sassenach.” His forehead rested against mine. “Knowing ye’re alive, and knowing ye’ll fix up my godfather has restored me, so I canna regret ye’re here. I just canna stop myself fashin’ that I’ve lost ye too many times already, and yet ye’re risking yer life yet again.”

I grabbed the lapels of his filthy, flimsy coat and said with all the conviction I could muster, “I did not travel two hundred years to live here without you. I don’t care if I have to work every day for the rest of my life in this prison, or if we can break you out tomorrow. You’re mine. And I will NOT be without you ever again.”

He nuzzled my cheek and smiled, “And you wouldna obey me if I commanded otherwise.”

“Too right.”

He kissed my cheek and pulled back. “Go on and help Murtagh. He’ll not be long for the earth wi’out you, Claire.”

“Go sit by the fire and warm yourself. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

And so I did just that with Jamie’s watchful and adoring eyes on me the whole time. I administered the penicillin (much to Murtagh’s chagrin once he saw the needle), gave him willow bark tea pain, ephedra to increase the oxygen intake into his lungs, honey for it’s antimicrobial and anti-inflammatory properties, and started him on a regime of shifting gravity, deep breathing, and intentional coughing to clear out his lungs as quickly as possible. 

After all my ministrations, Murtagh fell quickly to sleep. I watched him breathe as he slept. The air was still coming in with irregular rhythms and a disconcerting rattle. I was going to have to stay the night to monitor him and keep up his treatments.

I felt a warm body come up behind me, and Jamie brought his shackled arms over my head and embraced me. I sank back into him as he nuzzled my hair.

“What are we going to do, Jamie?”

“I dinna ken yet, Sassenach. But we’ll think of something.” He squeezed me in reassurance.

“Oh dear God!” I looked at his wrists where the shackles were scraping away the skin. “What have they done to you?”

“’Tis nothing. Dinna fash.”

“It’s filthy. It’ll get infected!”

“It has. A few times. They’ve no been unlocked since I arrived.”

“This is inhumane.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m imprisoned, Sassenach. I dinna think they’re trying to be much in the way of humane to a traitor.”

“Are all the prisoners shackled? Murtaghs wrists look fine.”

“Just me. Quarry must’ve thought it symbolic having a Jacobite leader in irons.”

“Hmphm.” I made my own Scottish noise and extricated myself from his grasp. “Come here. We’ll clean it up and bandage it. I know you’re fond of Fergus, but I’ll not have you losing your own hand in sympathy.”

I lifted his wrists up and kissed each one. “Now, see there, mo nighean donn. That’s the kind of symbolism I prefer.”

_________________________

By midday, it was time for another round of treatment for Murtagh. I had Jamie holding him up in a forward leaning position as I blew my herbal smoke into a paper tube covering his nose and mouth. Murtagh was doing all he could not to drown in the fluid of his lungs, coughing up much of what he was breathing in. 

“Slow, easy breaths if you can,” I said, before blowing more smoke into the tube. 

His breathing eased, and I felt Jamie relax a little next to me. He muttered soothing words in Gaelic to his godfather. 

“I’m no a horse, Jamie. Quit talkin’ to me like I’m a skittish auld man about to kick ye in the wame from behind.”

“Hmm,” said a voice from the door. “I see medical and spiritual intervention has not improved your temperament, Mr. Fitzgibbons.”

My head whirled around and saw Lord John at the door. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “Lord John. It's a pleasure to see you.”

“What on Earth are you doing here?” he asked Jamie, sharply.

“Mr. Fitzgibbons did not trust me to attend to him without his chief present,” I said. “Mr. Fraser has been of great assistance in ensuring the patient accept his medical care with minimal complaint.”

“And has Mr. Fraser been treating you with respect, madam?” 

“He’s behaved as a gentleman, sir.”

“Ye did not expect me to harm the woman who’s tending my godfather, did ye?” Jamie said in offense.

“Considering the last time the four of us met together, Mr. Fraser, you were quite intent on assaulting this woman. I don’t think it such a far fetched presumption.”

Jamie’s smirk of amusement concerned me that he might intentionally antagonize Lord John.

“I assure you, he’s been well behaved. I’ve found his help rather invaluable, as you witnessed when you arrived, not only in assuring Mr. Fitzgibbon’s cooperation, but in maneuvering the patient as necessary for the treatment.” I stepped closer to Lord John. “I believe God’s will is becoming ever more apparent, Lord John, that Mr. Fraser be forced into the service of the woman he once attempted to harm. I see no clearer path to redemption for his soul.”

Murtagh gave an amused, “Hmphm,” while Jamie simultaneously gave one that sarcastically suggested something like, “I’ll bet you’d like that, woman.”

“Mistress Beauchamp,” said John, “I would like to remind you of the dangers you face, specifically in the presence of this particular prisoner.”

“I’m well aware.” I did my best to keep the sharpness out of my tone. “The Lord’s path is rarely paved smooth.”

He considered my words with some degree of humor in his eyes. “Truer words have never been spoken, madam.” He turned to Jamie and said. “You will assist Mistress Beauchamp in any way she requires. If I hear that you’ve harmed one hair on her head, we’ll skip the lashing and send you straight to the noose. Are we clear, Mr. Fraser?”

Jamie stared at Lord John for some time more than comfortable, possibly for dramatic effect, before nodding his head in agreement.

“Thank you, Lord John,” I said. “Your concern for my welfare is most gratifying.”

“Of course, madam. I’ll have some lunch brought out to you, shortly. You’ll need sustenance to endure such company for any prolonged amount of time.”

Jamie’s, “Hmphm,” was not lost on either of us.

“Indeed. I’m afraid I will need to stay the night, as well. I cannot leave Mr. Fitzgibbons in his current state. He’ll require me to repeat his treatment every four hours, at least until tomorrow afternoon when he’s stabilized.”

“Madam, I’m afraid I do not have the guards to spare in the evening to watch over you throughout the night.”

“Do not fear, Lord John. Mr. Fraser will ensure no harm comes to me, from himself or anyone else, lest he face the noose in the morning. Isn’t that right, Mr. Fraser?”

Jamie’s mouth twitched in amusement. “I’m at yer service, Mistress.”

“Alright, then. That’s settled,” said John. “Good day to you, madam.”

When Lord John left the room, Jamie was chuckling to himself. Murtagh shook his head in disbelief and said, “The poor bastard never had a choice in the matter.”

I shrugged with no little pride in myself and set to grinding more herbs for my medicines. “Mr. Fraser, I could use a little elbow grease with my mortar and pestle.”

Jamie laughed. “I’ll give ye something to grind on, lassie.”


	10. Unrestrained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. This is a dense chapter. The next couple will probably full like this, as well.

Unrestrained  
___________________

Jamie lay naked on the floor by the fire save for the irons on his wrists. His hands were resting with his fingers linked over his ribs so the metal wouldn’t pull at his tender skin. I had put a salve on the wounds and wrapped them as best I could, but the cuffs were too tight for anything truly useful. 

He stared off into the flames, his eyes disconnected from what they were seeing. If the knot on his brow was any indication, he was trying to solve the myriad problems before us.

Murtagh’s snoring was loud and rhythmic, giving us some semblance of privacy. My cloak was hung over the back of a chair in a weak attempt to block us from view should he wake. I was determined to stay fully clothed in case a red coat happened to check on me at some point in the evening. 

I washed Jamie’s clothes, and they were hanging to dry near the fire. I had to cut some of the seams to get them off his shackled arms, but a physician always had needle and thread, and I could stitch them up rather quickly. As he lay close to flame, I pulled a rag from the basin and washed the months of grime built up on his body. 

“What’s on your mind, soldier?” 

His eyes turned to me and softened. “Oh, just the comfort of a fire in winter. There are few fires in the cells below. It isna enough to warm all the men. They must huddle together to stop from freezing.”

I shook my head at the frigid, overcrowded conditions ripe for the spread of disease. “You’re worried about them.”

“Aye, but there’s naught to be done about it now, so I may as well enjoy the warmth and the company while I can.”

“Lord John seems rather reasonable and sympathetic. Perhaps he’ll hear your concerns if we bring them to him strategically? Maybe I could make some recommendations about hygiene and warmth.”

Jamie chuckled, “Perhaps, Sassenach. I wouldna put it past you to inspire comprehensive reformation in all English prisons.”

“I’d settle for just getting you out of here, and not just for my sake. Brianna and Fergus are eager to see you.” I had briefly gone back to the inn a few hours ago to let Brianna and Fergus know I found Jamie and informed them about my staying the night at the prison. “Unfortunately, I can’t think of any way to get you free. Lord John doesn’t seem like the kind of man I’d be able to bribe or extort.”

“No, he doesna. Dinna bring any suggestion of the sort to him, or ye’ll be imprisoned, too. We’re lucky Governor Quarry was a filthy, corrupt bastard who ran off with yer gold. It could’ve been much worse.”

“I know. I was just feeling so desperate.”

“We have time now, mo nighean donn. We’ll find another way.”

He was clean now, but I kept washing him just for the sake of touching him. I was probably overly thorough with certain parts of his body. I continued talking to him as I thoroughly cleansed his crevices, “We’ll just have to make sure at least one of the prisoners needs medical care everyday, so I can see my handsome and dedicated medical assistant, Mr. Mac Dubh.”

He laughed, “Since ’tis winter, there is little light for our regular labor, so I should be able to spend a good amount of time with ye. Although, I may need to break a few of the men’s bones if no one has the decency to be sick, so ye can have me here to help ye mend them.”

“Just small fractures, though. I don’t have resources to deal with too much damage.”

“Aye, just wee fingers and toes,” he chuckled. He pulled the rag out of my hand and tossed it aside. “Enough wi’ the scrubbing, Sassenach. Ye’ll rid me of my hide. Besides, I need ye again. God knows how long it will be before I’m inside ye once more.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I crawled over and mounted him with a lift of my skirts. I rode him slow and savoring. It was just as he said...It may be a couple hours or a couple months before we had another chance to make love again. 

He was frustrated with the shackles. He couldn’t spread his hands wide enough to grip my hips or my bottom, which he very much liked to do when I rode him. He busied his hands with activities that the irons allowed, massaging my breasts and clitoris.

I thought his shackles could actually be quite fun to play with in our bedroom—should we ever have one again—if he didn’t have such a history of violent trauma. Perhaps he wouldn’t object to me being the one cuffed...

In a flash, I was on my back with Jamie on top of me, my hands pinned above my head. “Don’t get any ideas, Sassenach,” he growled into my ear with his uncanny ability to read my thoughts. “I’ll restrain ye with my hands, or maybe a rope, but I willna see ye put in irons.”

I shrugged. A rope sounded nice...and I liked the weight of his hands restraining mine while we made love. 

“Ye’re a bawdy wee thing,” he growled, reading my face once more. I distracted him with my mouth—quite successfully, I might add—to maintain some degree of privacy of thought.

We both struggled with wanting our love making to last as long as possible, but fearful of what it would mean if we were caught. Jamie said he would kill the guard that caught us rather than have me get into trouble, but the last thing I needed was for Jamie to acquire a more severe sentence. 

Thankfully, no redcoats checked in until long after we both were sated. Jamie’s clothes had dried, and he was fully dressed—and smelling much nicer—when the guard popped his head in. Moments before, we were cuddled together by the fire, but Jamie heard footsteps coming down the hall and moved to the other end of the room where he pretended to sleep while I feigned administration of treatment to my unconscious patient.

There were no further disruptions for the remainder of the night. We had agreed to take turns sleeping, but Jamie’s eyes never really closed when it was his turn. He just held me in his arms, kissing me and stroking my face until I fell asleep again. 

In the morning, he helped me give Murtagh a dose of penicillin and another herbal lung treatment. 

“You sound much better,” I said to my patient, whose outward mood was not improved with his health, particularly after being jabbed in the arse with yet another needle. “I wonder if St. John’s Wort might lift your mood, since saving your life doesn’t seem to be working.”

Jamie laid his grouchy godfather back down and said, “Dinna fash, Sassenach. The ol’ bugger is grateful, even if he doesna speak it.”

“Sassenach?” said a voice from the door. I turned to find John Grey coming inside my little clinic. He was shockingly stealthy in his movements. “Mr. Fraser, I should think you’d have more respect for Mistress Beauchamp for all she’s doing for your godfather than to address her with such a derogatory slur.”

Jamie’s face was immediately passive, and his eyes dropped to the floor. “I meant no offense, Mistress.”

“Oh, none taken,” I said. “It only means an English person, after all. Or an outlander. I am certainly both of those things.”

I went to wash my hands after handling Murtagh and motioned for Jamie to do the same.

“And how was your evening, Madam? I trust all was well?” asked John. 

“The evening was uneventful, which a healer always takes as a success. Mr. Fitzgibbons is steadily improving and Mr. Fraser was a great help.”

“I’m pleased to hear.” Lord John glanced sideways at Jamie. “Perhaps you could be of further assistance to our new healer, Mr. Fraser. Apparently, there was some trouble last evening in your absence. Thomas Christie was assaulted by the Lindsay brothers. Would you please go back down to the cell and escort Mr. Christie back here? He has some wounds that require mending by Mistress Beauchamp.”

Jamie dipped his head in lieu of a formal bow and left the clinic. I noticed a redcoat followed behind him.  
“Why did you have Mr. Fraser fetch the patient?” I asked. “I’d assume the guard alone would have sufficed?”

Murtagh's eyes were closed as if asleep, but after listening to his snoring all night, I could tell the soft breathing coming from his lips was anything but unconscious. He was listening intently.

“I am new here to the prison, madam, but I’ve been learning much about the dynamics between prisoners from my guards. Mr. Fraser is something of a leader to the Catholic Highlanders, particularly those who fought alongside him at Culloden. Mr. Christie is an educated Lowlander. A Presbyterian. He has something of his own following.”

“So, I’m guessing the Lindsay brothers are Catholics?”

“Just so. I think it would be good for the prisoners to see Mr. Fraser attend to Mr. Christie. It might encourage his men to minimize their hostility.”

I wasn’t sure that would do any good. Clearly Lord John had minimal experience dealing with Scots. “Have you thought of talking to Mr. Fraser and Mr. Christie directly about minimizing the fighting between groups?”

John did me the favor of not scoffing at my suggestion, but the quirk of his mouth told me he very much wanted to. “I’m not sure these Scottish traitors can be trusted to discourse honestly, madam.”

“I see.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” John said with a tense jaw and a rather formal tone, “I must attend to the Lindsay brothers. I’m afraid you may want to prepare for several more patients in the next hour. They’ll likely need your attention.”

“Whatever for?”

“We must keep the peace. The consequences for assaulting other prisoners is twenty lashes each.” By the set in his jaw, I could see John took no pleasure in having to administer such a punishment. He was certainly no Black Jack Randall. “Good day, madam.”

Jamie came in with the other prisoner shortly after Lord John left. Thomas Christie and Jamie could scarcely look any different. Jamie was, at least, seven or eight inches taller than his companion and looked the part of Highland chieftain, while Mr. Christie reminded me a bit of Frank, to be honest. He had the frame of a man who needn’t use his body to survive, but rather his brain. He had dark hair and grey eyes, contrasting with Jamie’s flaming red and vibrant blues. But it was the look on his face of haughty superiority that truly separated him from my husband.

Mr. Christie looked quite worse for the wear from his run in with the Lindsay brothers. The cuts and bruises on his face, along with the general prison filth that accumulated over what must’ve been years behind bars, didn’t stop him from carrying himself like King Louis looking both disgusted and irritated at the sign of anything resembling a vegetable on his dinner plate.

The guard stopped just outside the door and closed us in. Christie looked up at Jamie—while somehow still looking down on him—and said, “Why are you still here?”

Jamie looked down at the man with a great deal of schadenfreude in his smile and said, “I’ve been tasked by the governor to assist Mistress Beauchamp in tending to ye, Tom. Ye might say ‘thank ye.’”

“Your assistance is not needed, Fraser, I assure you. It’s only a few cuts and bruises.” 

I thought I heard a faint Scottish lilt hidden in his accent.

“Ah, come now. If ye go a wee faint at the sight of yer own blood, we canna expect Mistress Beauchamp to catch ye all on her own. Ye’ll fall flat on yer face and open a few more wounds. Nah, best I stay for her sake and yours.”

“How noble.”

Jamie led Mr. Christie to a seat near the fire. A quaking shiver ran through the man as the warmth reached him. A low, pained groan emanated from his chest as his sore body shuddered involuntarily. I wondered if he had any broken ribs.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

Christie nodded somehow both polite and severe. “Thomas Christie, at your service.”

“I hear you’ve had a rough evening. Why don’t you take off your shirt so I can examine you?”

“I beg your pardon, madam?!” He was more than scandalized at the notion.

Jamie chuckled from the other side of the room just loud enough to taunt the poor man.

“I need to see if you've had any ribs broken. I can hardly do so if you’re wearing three layers of clothes.”

Christie squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with both my request and with the pain permeating his core, but even more so with Jamie’s intrusive observation.

“Och, Tom. The lassie is a fine healer and has seen many a grander and inferior trunk that what ye have to offer. Off wi’ it, then.”

Christie closed his eyes in frustration, and his deep breath was cut short by a sharp pain in his side. Pain won out over what I couldn’t decide was either modesty or prudishness. He grumbled as he pulled off his clothes. 

I gave Jamie a sharp look to stifle the obvious pleasure he took from Christie’s discomfort. I knew my husband could control the expression of his emotions in the most challenging of circumstances, so his open delight in this situation was meant to have particular impact on my patient. 

“How did you come to be a healer, madam?” Christie asked.

“Oh, I’d say it was a higher calling.”

He seemed to approve of my answer as if it was the only acceptable response. “And how did you come to render your services in a prison?”

“‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,’” I quoted Matthew 9:12. 

“‘Heal the sick who are there and tell them, The kingdom of God has come near to you.’” He quoted Luke back to me. “Tell me, mistress, are you healing souls as well as injuries?”

“Indeed, Mr. Christie, for bodies decay, but the soul lingers on. If I heal the body and the soul is left to rot, what good have I done? ‘...the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well.’”

Jamie snorted audibly at my grand spiritual pronouncements. Of course, he and I both believed everything I said to be true, but I was laying it on a bit thick for Mr. Christie. I didn’t think it a good idea to make an enemy of Jamie’s prison rival...but making him an ally might one day prove useful.

I started my examination of the man by taking his vitals and poking and prodding different organs, bones, and muscle groups to see where he was most affected. His grunts and groans were a trifle exaggerated for the level of injury (or so I was accustomed to by Highland standards).

“I can’t tell you how pleasant it is, madam, to be in the company of a educated, Christian woman after spending so many years surrounded by the most barbaric…” his face scrunched up in disgust, “...papists and Highlanders.”

I turned away to fiddle with one of my salves so my amusement wouldn’t show. I would’ve given a pretty penny to see Jamie’s face, but I couldn’t turn lest my expression give away our elaborate charade. I waited until I was fully composed before returning to Christie with a rag and ointment to clean his wounds.

“Certainly, they are not all barbarians?” I asked. “Mr. Fraser here seems to demonstrate courtly manners, at times.”

“Indeed, madam. Some have as much education as you or I, but I was referring more to their penchant for violence and immoral behavior.”

“I see.” I finished cleaning the wound. “Well, Mr. Christie, it looks like you’ve no broken bones, just a few scrapes and bruises. This cut on your temple could probably use a stitch or two…”

“Oh, no thank you, Mistress. I shall manage just fine without it.”

“Really, Mr. Christie, it would only be a couple of stitches, and it will minimize the scarring greatly, not to mention speed healing and diminish risk of infection.”

“Thank you, mistress, but I must decline.”

“He’s scairt of blood, Sassenach,” Jamie chimed in from the peanut gallery.

Tom rolled his eyes, “I am NOT ‘scairt’ of blood.” 

By the look in his eyes, I thought it might be the pain he was afraid of. “It won’t hurt very much, just a couple of…”

“No, thank you, mistress,” he stated firmly.

“Oh, come now, Tom. I’ve been poked with the wee needles before...a few dozen times, at least. ’Tis nothing.”

“Thank you for your input, Fraser, but the care of my health is none of your concern,” he spat. Christie formally dipped his head to me and said, “Thank you, Mistress Beauchamp, for your time and service.”

Christie stood to leave in all abruptness. Jamie jumped up to follow him out, still pleasantly amused by the man’s lack of tolerance for blood and/or pain. When Jamie caught up to Tom, he patted him a little harder on the back than would be necessary for pure geniality. As Tom let out a soft grunt of pain, Jamie said, “Ease up, Tom. ‘A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.’” 

A papist quoting Mr. Christie’s beloved bible must’ve grated something fierce on his nerves, as I’m sure Jamie very well knew. Murtagh let out a quiet coughing chuckle as their footsteps faded down the hall.

A short time later, Lord John returned with several guards dragging two prisoners in by the arms. Neither were wearing shirts having just come from getting lashed. Fortunately, the Highlanders didn’t have Thomas Christie’s prudish modesty.

“Oh dear,” I said as I examined their backs. There weren’t many cuts, but the ones that were there were flayed open and looked something awful.

There was only one extra bed aside from the one Murtagh occupied, so I laid a few blankets on the floor for the brother with less serious wounds. They both gave the standard full body shudder at adjusting to the warmth of the room, and my frustration at the inhumane treatment of the prisoners grew.

“Will there be much permanent damage?” Lord John asked.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” I said after a cursory examination. “The skin only broke on a few of the lashes. I should be able to stitch them up.”

I looked to Lord John who seemed relieved by my assessment. He still held the whip in his hand, and I realized he must have been the one who administered the blows. I wondered why he would choose to do so rather than assigning the unpleasant job to one of his officers.

He frowned and answered my unasked question, “I shouldn’t think it fair to ask my men to administer a punishment I wouldn’t bother to do myself.”

“I see.” No, he definitely was no Jack Randall. 

Jamie walked in the room and saw the Lindsay brothers laying face down waiting for me to tend to their injuries. His reaction couldn’t have been more different from his response to Tom Christie. He moved quickly to their sides and conversed softly with them in Gaelic.

“Hmmm,” John made a thoughtful noise as he watched Jamie and the Lindsays. “Mistress Beauchamp, do you, by chance, understand what they’re saying?” 

I shook my head while I readied the disinfectants, salves, needles, and thread. “Only a word here and there. I don’t know enough to guess at any meaning. How about you?”

“No. I have neither ear nor tongue for the language. Damn.”

“Looking for a spy?” I asked him quietly.

He chuckled. “No. I’d never ask a woman like you to deceive anyone.”

I laughed internally at how he thought it was so far outside my character. 

“You see, there is a man not far from the prison who knows some information the crown has significant interest in. The problem is that he’s rambling in a mix of English, French, and Gaelic. I can’t find anyone trustworthy who speaks all three languages.”

John needed someone he could trust to get information for the crown? My heart raced as a plan started forming in my head...perhaps a way to get in close with Lord John and possibly learn information that may help lead to Jamie’s escape or release. 

“That’s not true,” I said. “You know someone who speaks all three languages rather well.” I played as best I could at nonchalance as I brought my supplies to the Lindsays’ bedside. “Cleaning the wounds might sting a little,” I told them.

“What do you mean, I know someone?” John said, whose interest in our conversation seemed to outweigh his concern for my patients now that he knew they’d be fine.

“Well…” I spoke over one of the Lindsays’ grunts. Jamie was holding his friend’s hand, but had stopped muttering reassurances and was obviously listening intently. “Mr. Fraser here informed me that he’s something of a polyglot, and seeing as how he is a prisoner, you don’t have to worry about him using the information against the crown in any way.”

“Hmphm?” grunted Jamie with a raised eyebrow. I hoped he was figuring out my plan and preparing to go along with it.

“A polyglot?” asked John.

“A person with command of an uncommon number of languages. What other languages do you speak, Mr. Fraser?” I said.

“The Gàidhlig and English, of course. And of the auld languages Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. And there’s German, French, Spanish and Italian. Oh, and a wee bit of Portuguese, though none sae well save what can be derived from Spanish and Latin.”

“Dear God, you must be joking!” said John. “Where on Earth would you learn all that?”

By the lift of Jamie’s brow, he clearly didn’t appreciate John’s condescending tone. I needed Jamie to play nice with the man. 

“Mr. Fraser informed me,” I interjected yet again, “that he had an excellent tutor in his youth, and he’s done some extensive traveling across Europe.”

John seemed to be appraising Jamie in a new light. “Parlez-vous bien le français, monsieur Fraser?”

“Je le parle mieux que toi,” he snapped.

John ignored the hostility and nearly laughed in relief. I kept my focus on applying the disinfectant so he wouldn’t notice my amusement. 

“Mr. Fraser,” said John, “I shall need to employ your talents in a matter quite important to the crown.”

“And what would that be?”

John explained to Jamie about the stranger speaking a mix of tongues. “If you could translate what he is saying, you would have my gratitude and that of the crown.”

Jamie tilted his head in consideration. He seemed to be contemplating his answer for a good long moment. Finally, he said with deliberate firmness, “No.”

“Pardon?” Lord John couldn’t fathom a prisoner telling him ‘no.’ In fact, neither could I. What was Jamie thinking?!

Jamie smiled in a friendly manner and repeated, “No. I am a prisoner, not an interpreter.”

“Mr. Fraser, I cannot believe it would be in your best interest to decline my request.”

Jamie rose to his feet and stretched up to his formidable height to stare down Lord John, “And how could it possibly benefit me? Why on Earth would a Jacobite traitor sentenced to life in prison agree to help the crown? D’ye mean to tell me ye’ll shorten my sentence if I assist ye?”

“Of course not. I don’t have control…”

“D’ye mean to punish me if I say ‘no?’ Ye’ll lash me or box my ears?”

“Well, no, I don’t…”

“Then thank ye for the offer, but I must decline to so liberally dispense talents in service to the crown that is nay so liberal in bestoying freedom on me and my men.”

Jamie knelt back down to refocus on his friend. A quiet chuckle sounded from Murtagh’s bed behind us. I narrowed my eyes at Jamie in frustration. His eyes narrowed at me, but his mouth gave a small twitch in amusement. 

The wheels and cogs of Lord John’s mind were audibly turning as he fought for frustrated composure. I had sympathy for the man; I was doing the same thing myself, but for different reasons. John’s disinclination toward corporal punishment aside, I was quite worried I’d be tending to Jamie’s back soon if he kept up his obstinance.

“Fine,” said John, cool and collected. “I’ll remove your irons IF you perform this task to the best of your ability.”

I dropped a cloth on the floor and had to excuse myself to go sanitize it. A fortuitous circumstance, seeing as how I was in no place to hold myself together. I looked over my shoulder at Jamie, terrified of his response...the stubborn Scot.

Do it, I willed quietly in my head.

He stood slowly and stepped to Lord John. Jamie lifted his wrists to the governor and waited with blank expression. John snapped his fingers for a guard to come forward. The redcoat hopped quickly to Jamie and pulled out a large keyring of clinking metal. He found the right key, and in two turns of the wrist, the shackles crashed to the floor and Jamie was free.

“Don’t make me regret this, Fraser,” said John. “We leave in an hour.”

John turned on his heel and exited with the guards following close behind. I shut the door after them with a brief nod to the redcoat standing just outside.

Jamie was staring down at his hands while he peeled off the meager bandages I’d used to mitigate the damage of the irons. He circled his wrists with his fingers, touching the tender, irritated skin like it was the most pleasurable sensation he’d ever felt.

“Jamie,” I whispered, so happy for him.

He looked up with glittery moisture in his eyes. “I thought if those shackles were ever cast off, all I’d want would be to throw my arms wide and never bring my wrists together again.” A tear dropped down his cheek. “But all I want to do is bring them back together to hold ye, mo nighean donn. Come here, Sassenach.”

He spread his arms wide, and I ran into them. He laughed as he hugged me tight and kissed the crown of my head.

“Here’s yer chance, Jamie,” said Murtagh. “Ye can give the governor the slip when he takes ye out to the village. Claire and Fergus can have horses waiting.”

“Nay, Ghoistidh. Lord John will be wary of it and likely well prepared for my attempted escape. I couldna drag the bairn on a manhunt across Scotland. We’ll think of something else.”

“But Jamie…” I pulled back and saw him looking at the Lindsay brothers. They lay staring open-mouthed while they waited for me to finish tending to them. “I see.”

“I canna leave Murtagh while he’s so unwell,” he whispered so no one else could hear, “...and a few others besides.”

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Bloody, stubborn Scot! Tears filled my eyes as I realized I wouldn’t be getting Jamie out of prison anytime soon because of his own obstinate, laird-headedness! I pulled away from him and busied myself with stitching up the Lindsays.

“Claire,” he pleaded.

I gave him a sharp look to cut him off. 

“Claire?” said the Lindsay I was working on. I looked up to answer, but realized he was talking to Jamie. “Yer wife, Mac Dubh? She’s alive?”

Jamie let out a bark of a laugh, despite the domestic trouble he found himself in. His smile reached his eyes as he answered his friend. “Aye. This is Claire Fraser, my wife. Ye’ll refer to her as Mistress Elizabeth Beauchamp in the cell, so Lord John doesna get any fanciful ideas of dismissing her on my account. Claire, this is Murdo and his brother Kenny.”

I gave them polite smiles, but I wasn’t apt to bestow any additional warmth than my medical services required given what my husband was sacrificing, if not for them specifically, then who they represented. Murtagh was his godfather. I understood his loyalty to the man. I loved Murtagh dearly after everything we’d been through together. But I didn’t know these other men...and I couldn’t help my resentment on what Brianna and Fergus would miss out on while Jamie stayed put.

“Pleasure to meet ye, Mistress Fraser,” said Murdo. “Ye’ll let us know if anyone bothers ye in here, aye? We’ll take care of it for ye.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Mr. Linsday. Is that what got you into your current predicament with Mr. Christie? Were you defending someone’s honor?”

“Oh, aye. The bastard Christie was mouthin’ off about Mac Dubh bein’ taken away by the redcoats.”

“I doubt Jamie would want you attacking Tom for the sake of his pride. This doesn’t seem worth it,” I gestured to his back.

“Aye, we ken. We wouldna ha’ been caught save for Christie’s weepin’ and wailin’ over a few knocks to the wame.”

Kenny chuckled at Tom Christie’s sensitivity to pain. Apparently, this was a well known shortcoming of the lowlander.

“Claire’s right,” said Jamie with a suppressed grin. “Christie can talk all he likes...meanwhile I was able to spend a quiet night by the fire wi’ my wife.”

The Lindsay brothers laughed at Christie’s misfortune, leaving me to wait for Murdo’s shoulders to stop bouncing before I finished stitching in up.

“Claire,” said Jamie after I finished with Murdo, “before ye go sewing Kenny up, we need to have a word before Lord John returns.”

I huffed a breath and put my needle and thread down. Jamie was right. We didn’t know the next time we’d be together, and we’d learned the hard way to say proper goodbyes whenever we had a chance.

He led me to the far side of the room and blocked me from view of the other men. He cupped my face in his hands and spoke softly. “Ye’re no too chafed at me to kiss me goodbye, are ye?”

“Almost,” I said, “but kiss me anyway, soldier. We haven’t much time.”

“I’m sorry, Claire, but ye understand why I canna run from Lord John today?”

I nodded. “You’re right. There’s too much risk...and it’s no life for Brianna. And we can’t very well leave Murtagh behind. We’ll figure something else out.”

“Aye.” He dropped his head to mine. “I canna believe that the Lord spared me, then returned ye to me twice, for our lives to be lived apart. We will find a way to be together as a family.”

“I wouldn’t allow God himself to keep us apart for very long.”

Rumbling amusement vibrated in Jamie’s chest.

“Oh, Jamie…” I lifted onto my toes to kiss him thoroughly...as if it was the last time. I desperately hoped it wasn’t.

_______________________

My walk home that evening was more somber than it should’ve been. For God’s sake, we found him! I’d spent the night with him. But fear of what was to come had my stomach in knots. Would he be locked up forever? Would we ever find a way to break him out that we could live with? Would Brianna go from having two fathers to none?

As I walked by the last tavern before the inn, a man with a fine, navy coat stepped in front of me with no warning. I stumbled into him, forcing me to grab his arms to keep me upright. I stepped back immediately and looked into his dark eyes.

“Pardon me, madame,” said a Parisian accented voice. 

“Apologies. I was distracted.”

He made an elegant bow and waved me by. I’d moved just past him when he stopped me by asking, “Forgive me, madame, I’m not from Scotland…”

Clearly.

“...but I have been tasked by the family of a man named Duncan Kerr to track him down and bring him home safely. He is aging and quite unwell. He no longer knows himself or remembers his family. Are you familiar with his name? Have you heard or seen anything of him in Ardsmuir?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not from Scotland either. I’ve never heard of anyone named Duncan Kerr.”

“Of course, madam. If you should hear anything, would you send word to the family? He has a daughter in Paris who is very concerned for his welfare. I shall be staying in Ardsmuir in the upcoming weeks…” He handed me a card with an address. “If you hear anything of Monsieur Kerr, his daughter, Madame Robicheaux, would be ever grateful to hear. She is offering a substantial reward.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Merci madame.”

I tucked the card away in my cloak and walked on to the inn. Dementia was such a tragic disease. I dearly hoped Mr. Kerr would soon be reunited with his family, even if he didn’t remember them.

“Mama!” Bree came running and embraced me. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too, darling.”

“How is Da?” 

“He’s doing well. He misses you dearly.”

Fergus kissed me on both cheeks, “And Murtagh?”

“He’s healing quickly.”

“C'est très bien. Will you see Milord again tomorrow?”

I bit my lip and tried not to let my face fall. “I don’t know, Fergus. I just don’t know.”

___________________

Over the next few days, Murtagh visited me daily in the clinic. He brought news of improved health—which made me very happy—and of Jamie’s continued absence—which made me miserable in the next breath. I was starting to worry that whatever information Jamie interpreted for Lord John might have been so valuable to the crown that John wouldn’t risk Jamie sharing it with anyone else.

There were a lot of desolate moors in Scotland...a million places to rid oneself of a man more burdensome alive than dead. I just hoped John’s decency prevented him from considering that an option...no matter his feelings toward Jamie.

When I arrived the fourth day and called once again for Murtagh to be brought to me, he arrived escorted by Jamie himself. As soon as the door was closed, I flung myself into his arms and held him as tight as I could until my arms started going numb.

“Where have you been, you maddening Scot?” I demanded.

Jamie smirked and bent down to kiss me. I checked his wrists for any signs of infection or complications from the shackles, but all was healing well.

Over my shoulder I heard Murtagh grumbling something about his lungs being, “just fine, thanks for asking.”

“God, ye smell sae good, woman,” said Jamie, burying his face in my hair as he held me close, cradling my body and my head in his arms. “Ye’ll leave me a scrap of yer shift today to get me through the night wi’ yer scent in my dreams, aye?”

“Of course. Tell me, how did it go with Lord John?”

Jamie’s mouth split into an amiable smile. “It was intriguing, that’s for sure. Though I missed you terribly, Sassenach, I canna say the last few days were in any way dull or disinteresting.”

He kissed me again before continuing, tongue rubbing softly against mine, as though he just couldn’t help himself.

“Och,” said Murtagh, “get on wi’ it.”

Jamie pulled me to a chair near Murtagh, where the latter had already found a seat and was sitting with his feet kicked up, warming himself by the fire. Jamie had one arm around my waist, pulling me tight against him, and the other hand on my thigh in a mark of uninhibited possessiveness. 

We’d been apart too long and were still buzzing from the high of being reunited for any sort of immediate caution about an intrusion. Jamie explained that John was enormously behind on paperwork due to their impromptu excursion, and would be unlikely to check in on me so soon.

“Tell us about this person John wanted you to interpret for? What was so pressing to the crown?”

“Weel,” Jamie started with a tone of a Highlander settling in to tell a story, “it took us a day’s ride to get to the poor auld man, and being too exhausted for an interview, we turned in and rested for the night. I spent the next two days with the batty auld man, then we rode back the whole next day.”

“What was so important for all this hassle?” I asked again.

Jamie grinned wide and wiggled his eyebrows, “Treasure, Sassenach.”

“Treasure?”

“Aye. The man was ravin’ in three tongues about poetry, songs, bible verses, blithering nonsense...and the Frenchman’s treasure.”

I narrowed my eyes as recollection hit me… “Brianna and I passed an old man raving about something of the sort on our way from Inverness to Lallybroch.”

“Ye ran into auld Duncan?” Jamie asked.

“Is that his name?”

“Aye. ’Twas Duncan Kerr. Murtagh and I kent him from years back at Leoch.”

Why did that name seem familiar to me?

“Duncan?” said Murtagh. “And he was ravin’ about treasure, ye say?”

“Aye. When he spoke of the treasure was when his mind was clearest. Said it’s hidden away on Silkie Island. He didna say where it came from, but blathered on something about a white witch. When I asked if he was certain there was treasure, he assured me it’s there. Then he’d lose hold and recite some auld poems.”

“And did ye tell the governor?” asked Murtagh.

“Aye,” Jamie grinned, “I told him every poem and song the auld bastard recited over two days, stories of white witches and silkies, and a treasure on some Northern Scotland Isle.”

Murtagh laughed at Jamie’s subterfuge. “But ye ken exactly where Silkie Island can be found, Jamie. Ye know it as well as I.”

“Aye, but I only agreed to interpret the words for the English, no their meaning.”

A memory clicked into place, and I jumped in Jamie’s lap. “Jamie, there is a Frenchman in Ardsmuir looking for Duncan Kerr. He said Duncan’s daughter lives in France, and is worried for him. He said Duncan is delirious, can’t remember himself or his family, but they want to get him back before something happens to him.”

“Duncan doesna have any family left, much less any daughters in France.” He narrowed his eyes in consideration. “Someone else must ken about the treasure and will be wanting to question Duncan about it.”

“Do you believe him about the treasure?” I asked. “I mean, he seemed raving mad when we passed him near Lallybroch.”

Jamie shrugged, “There are reasons the English believe it real that John isna sharing wi’ me. And your Frenchman has unusual interest in a dementing auld Scot. I suppose it could verra well still be some fanciful tale by a madman, but the only time his eyes were clear was when he was tellin’ me of that treasure.” 

“What do you suggest we do? Go hunt it down?”

“God no. Lallybroch is taken care of for now, thanks to your gold, Sassenach. And ye have plenty of coin for now. No, we’ll let it bide until time comes we may have need of it.”

“What if Duncan shares his ramblings with someone else and they figure it out?”

Jamie bowed his head and made the sign of the cross, “It wouldna be verra likely. Duncan died on our second night wi’ him.”

Murtagh mirrored Jamie’s silent prayer.

“Poor man. I bet Lord John was disappointed.”

Jamie shrugged and smiled. “Nah, he seemed to enjoy himself getting out of the prison and into the fresh air. We played a few games of chess since the other guards dinna ken how—and they call me a barbarian, hmphm—and we talked of books and such, and about some of the things the men need, like more blankets and fires and food to ward off the scurvy.”

I warmed at Jamie taking on my role as nutritionist, particularly when he’d been on the grumbling and reluctant receiving end of my endless badgering over the years. “Was he receptive to your suggestions?”

Jamie shrugged, “No at first, but he warmed to me a bit after I broke his spirit beating him regularly at chess.”

“Beating him made him warm to you?” I shook my head. I’d never truly understand the male species.

“Well, he won the one time and felt quite proud of himself. That’s when I asked.”

“Collum’s chess lessons put to good use?”

“Aye.” He chuckled and nuzzled into my ear. “And how is Brianna?” 

I pulled out a folded piece of paper from my pocket and handed it to him. He opened it to find a sketch Brianna made that was quite impressive for a five year old, if I did say so myself. 

Jamie stared for a good, long while. His throat was constricted as he whispered, “She made this for me?”

“Yes. Not bad, is it?” I said with maternal pride, though I contributed nothing to her innate drawing ability. 

“No bad, at all. This is Donas, aye? She captured his likeness well for one sae young.” Jamie showed the picture with pride to Murtagh. “She’ll have my Ma’s hand, wait and see.”

Murtagh’s face nearly softened looking at the picture. “Aye. Verra bonny.” His eyes dropped to me, “Ye said she looks like Ellen, too?”

“She’s a spitting image of Jamie...”

“...and he, his mother,” he finished for me. “I’d dearly like to meet her one day.”

“She’d like that, too. You’re a legend in the stories Fergus tells her.”

Murtagh scoffed, but I could see his ears turn red at the tips.

As I laid my head on Jamie’s shoulder, surrounded by the comfort of a warm fire, my husband’s strong arms, and the presence of his godfather, I, too, felt his reluctance to leave Murtagh behind. If we ever left, Murtagh would have to come with us...we couldn’t leave him. And if Jamie felt half this affection and loyalty to his other men, we’d have to find a way to empty the whole prison if we were ever planning on getting him out of there.

I sighed in exasperation and buried my face in his neck.

________________________

We settled into a routine as the weeks went on. I’d go to the prison two or three days a week, and Lord John allowed Jamie to stay and help me attend to the men. There was little labor to be done by the prisoners in the winters at Ardsmuir. Snow covered the ground, the prisoners were inadequately clothed, and the days were so short that labor was nearly impossible. 

Jamie didn’t even have to break any fingers or toes to keep me occupied with patients. I dealt regularly with frostbite, bronchitis, and dozens of other conditions related to the cold and poor nutrition. I’d even get the rare evening with Jamie if someone needed more acute supervision overnight—better yet when it was one of Jamie’s men who was ill, and we didn’t have to pretend not to be married. 

On my days off, Brianna and I stayed at the inn while Fergus left to various taverns and brothels in search of information that may somehow be useful to getting Jamie back. His search had so far turned up fruitless.

The politics and inner workings of the prison were a conundrum for me. I was fascinated by the rivalry between the Presbyterians and the Catholics. It never ceased to amaze me how one religious group could claim any sort of superiority over another when their doctrine promotes meekness, harmony, and acceptance. It obviously had less to do with religion and more to do with testosterone.

I was, unfortunately, a first-hand witness to this religious nonsense every time one of the Presbyterians came into the clinic with Jamie. My darling husband seemed incapable of not antagonizing them, even when he stood quietly breathing on his own. His mere presence agitated them.

“Why do they hate you so much?” I finally asked. Religious oppression just wasn’t a good enough answer for me.

“Weel, before I arrived, Christie and his men had some arrangements with Governor Quarry about food rations and blankets and such. As ye can imagine, I couldna allow my men to be getting less than for verra long.”

“You convinced Quarry to distribute resources more fairly?”

“Oh, aye. And when they didna give up their place by the fire for one of my sick kinsmen, I helped them learn a thing or two about Christian generosity.” Jamie rubbed his knuckle over his lip to hide his mischievous smile. I wondered how many fellow prisoners met with the wrong end of those knuckles before they gave up their spot by the fire.

One such man, Kester Morrow, was brought into the clinic for a severe case of piles. His foul mood at being escorted by Jamie was exacerbated by the discomfort of his medical condition. He was terribly acerbic during my entire examination...and considering which end of his I was examining, I was in little humor to put up with his abrasiveness. 

“The ones I’ve tied off should fall out in several days, but you must really do your best not to strain yourself when you pass a bowel movement. And when the weather is nicer, be sure to collect as many edible greens as you can when you’re working out on the moor.”

“Hmphm,” he grumbled. “I’ll no be stuffin’ my wame with flowers and weeds like the stinkin’ papists.”

I looked at Jamie who was sitting on the other side of the room with his arms crossed and watching intently. 

“Well then,” I advised, “you can expect to be bleeding from your arse and cringing in pain every time you shit. It’s your body.”

Kester grabbed my arm painfully and pulled me around. I could feel his filthy nails cutting into my skin. “Watch what comes out of yer mouth, woman, or I’ll find something to shove down yer gullet!”

I was immediately yanked from the man’s grasp as he was pulled away and thrown bodily into the stone wall.

“I’ll thank ye to show respect to the woman who just spent the last hour fixing yer arsehole, though I’m pretty certain she was working on the wrong end!” Jamie gripped the man by his shirt and said, “I’ll be sure to remedy that for ye now.”

He punched the man directly in the center of his face, then set to work on the softer bits of his torso with both his right and left hands.

“Jamie! Stop! Enough!”

The guard came running in at the sound of my distressed calls. He grabbed Jamie and tried pulling him back, but Jaime was laying into an unconscious Kester Morrow on the floor.

I moved between Jamie and Kester, as I was sure I was the only thing that could stop him nearly killing the man. The guard had pulled out a baton-like stick and was winding up to strike Jamie down. 

“No!” I yelled, effectively stopping him. I pulled Jamie away and put myself between him and the guard. “Mr. Fraser was protecting me. See! This man assaulted me.”

I showed the guard my arm where the inflamed beginnings of a bruise in the shape of a large hand was starting to form, and blood was dripping from the scratches of his nails. My pale skin displayed the damage quite vividly.

“You’re alright, mistress?” he asked. I could hear more redcoats running down the hall towards us. They must have been signaled somehow by my guard before he intervened.

“Yes, I’m fine. Now if the two of you can put his man up on the examination table, I could treat his wounds.”

“No!” said Jamie. “The swine deserves to have his cuts fester and rot for laying hands on you.”

“Well if a statement like that isn’t the work of God on a penitent man’s soul, I don’t know what is,” said a voice entering the room. Lord John was looking over the scene with an appraising eye. “Mistress Beauchamp. What on Earth happened?”

“Mr. Morrow grabbed me rough by the arm…”

“Quite unprovoked,” Jamie added.

“...and Mr. Fraser here intervened.”

John nudged Morrow with his foot as if to assess whether the unconscious form was still alive. “You did quite a number on him, Jamie.”

I raised an eyebrow at the familiar address. I knew Jamie and John had been meeting regularly, but it seems their acquaintance was turning into something a bit more friendly.

“He deserved worse,” said Jamie.

“I’m sure he did. Quite a role reversal, is it not?” 

Jamie clenched his teeth. He clearly didn’t like his behavior to be grouped with the likes of Kester Morrow, and poor John still thought Jamie intended on harming me that day at Prestonpans. He must’ve thought this a significant spiritual transformation of some sort.

“Mr. Fraser acted very admirably,” I said. “But this man needs medical care.”

“I’m sorry, madam, but I cannot allow it. You have just been assaulted by this prisoner, and I would be remiss to allow him to continue to be in your presence.”

“But…”

“This is not up for discussion.” John turned to one of his guards. “Please take him to isolation. When he rouses, have him assessed for capacity to withstand his punishment. I will administer it in the morning if possible.”

“Lord John…”

“Mistress,” Jamie interrupted, “let the man do his job. This filth needs to be made an example of, or the rest of the prisoners may think it worth putting their hands on ye, as well.”

“Surely, you don’t think…”

“I happen to agree with Mr. Fraser,” said John. “You are a guest at this prison, Mistress Beauchamp. I will not tolerate any mistreatment of you.”

Since I couldn’t convince John or Jamie to allow me to attend to Morrow, I set to work on cleaning the cuts on Jamie’s knuckles and cleaning Morrow’s blood off his hands and face. Jamie was agitated and tense throughout the process. When I was done with his wounds, he insisted on helping me clean mine.

The room had been cleared of unconscious prisoners and redcoats by the time he was done. He set down the disinfectant and cloth with more hostility than I thought it deserved, and I thought maybe he still wanted to go a few more rounds on Morrow’s face.

“Forget about him, Jamie. I’m fine.”

He turned around and snapped, “And if I wasn’t here, you wouldna have been FINE, Claire. Ye’re dealing with prisoners. Many of them traitors and warriors wi’out the same scruples of the likes of Murtagh or the Lindsays. Ye canna be cursing at them, no matter how earnestly they deserve it.”

“I know. I know. Discretion is the better part of valor.” I was placating him, to be honest, but he was agitated right now and needed handling. “Thank you...for protecting me.”

His shoulders slumped and he pulled me in. “Aye, mo nighean donn. I just wish I could be there for ye...out there.” He was helpless to protect his family outside the prison walls.

“I know. We’ll find a way, Jamie. We’ll get you out of here somehow.”

He kissed me softly, bent over me, surrounding me. He was caretaking me, now. Caressing me like a fragile piece of glass in the way only strong men could, with the greatest of care and restraint. 

My arms wrapped around his neck as I deepened the kiss. 

“Dear God,” said Lord John. 

Jamie and I turned quickly and saw him standing at the door with his jaw agape. 

No. Oh no! “John, it’s not what you think.”

He was shaking his head, “You’re right about that, madam. I thought Mr. Fraser’s timely intervention on your behalf was motivated by contrition...NOT by his more baser instincts. Clearly, I thought too highly of him...and of you.”

“This is a misunderstanding...Jamie wouldn’t…”

“Please pack your belongings, madam. I cannot have a physician in my prison with such loose moral principles. And come, Fraser. I will escort you back to your cell before I devise a suitable punishment for seducing my staff.”

“John!” I yelled, but he had already turned on his heel and left the room.

Jamie hugged me hard one last time. “Dinna fash, Sassanch. We’ll find another way. I’ll speak with John when I can. Tell the bairn I love her. And Fergus.”

“Jamie!”

He kissed me hard and whispered. “Tonight in our dreams, mo nighean donn. At Lallybroch.”

And he was gone...


	11. A Dream Interrupted

A Dream Interrupted  
___________________

“’Tis alright, Claire,” he said, holding me in his arms in our bed in the Laird’s room at Lallybroch. “We’re safe and alive. That’s what matters.”

It was, at the very least, a relief to know we could still meet in our dreams. We’d done so every evening since we were caught by John. John no longer summoned Jamie for their private meetings, and I had little to do aside from sitting idle and caring for Brianna while Fergus spent long days out gathering whatever scraps of information he could find that might be of some use.

“I know. It just feels like the world is against us. Whenever we finally find some little bit of happiness, it’s always taken away.”

“No one can take our joy. ’Tis ours to keep. We shall find a way to make more.”

I nuzzled into Jamie’s chest and felt the scratch of his hair on my cheek. As comforting as these dreams were, and as realistic as they had always seemed, I could see now they were muted forms of our real life encounters. Compared to the dullness of my life in the 1960’s without Jamie, the dreams were incredibly vital. But now that I’d held the real thing in my arms once again, the dreams proved to be something short of fulfilling...like a filter over reality, softening the impact of every sensation. I wanted so desperately to be hit with the full force of him.

“Did Fergus come up wi’ anything today?” he asked.

“Just more rumors about the crown being terribly in debt for their preparations with hostilities against France. They’re trying to build more ships, but haven’t the gold.”

“Hmphm,” he grumbled. “Any more talk from the redcoats about the crown selling prisoners as indentured servants for gold?”

“Nothing to indicate it will happen anytime soon. We have some gold left, but I’m not sure it would be enough to secure your indenture. But there is the Frenchman’s treasure on Silkie Island...”

“Aye. Ye ken my mind, Sassenach. Though, ’tis unlikely the crown would sell off a Jacobite leader, such as myself. But ye might be able to purchase Murtagh’s indenture. And the Lindsays. Gavin Hayes.” His dark eyes twinkled with humor when he said, “And Tom Christie canna be worth more than a penny or two.”

“Jamie…” I chided.

“The man is quite taken wi’ ye, Sassenach,” He laughed. “Could ye imagine if the poor soul ever found out ye’re my wife?”

“He’s not taken with me.”

“Oh, Aye, he is. He didna lift a finger to help Kester when he was brought back from punishment. The groping bastard isna allowed within twenty feet of a fire. Seems the only thing the Catholics and the Presbyterians can agree on is keeping the damned fool miserable.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Ye helped a great number of the men, and the ones who dinna ken ye’re my wife all think the reason ye’re no longer there is that he scairt ye away. If they kent the truth of it, they’d likely no let ME near a fire,” he laughed.

The thought of Jamie freezing in the cell with all those men made me sick to my stomach. “Are you warm enough, Jamie?”

“Oh, aye,” he looked to the hearth. “We’ve got a good flame going, do we no?”

“I meant in your cell. Are you freezing?”

“’Tis fine, Sassenach. Dinna fash. My hands are still free from the shackles, and I’ve my men to keep me company in the day and my wife at night. It isna such a terrible life as the one I lived all those years wi’out ye.” His hands ran over the curves of my body.

“You’re right. But we still need to get that treasure...just in case.”

“Aye. But the sea is freezing and would be a rough swim in the summertime. A boat will be necessary in the winter.”

“Where should I rent the boat? And crew?”

“No. I dinna want ye going. Send Fergus to Lallybroch. Ian, Young Jamie, and Rabbie McNab can go wi’ him to get the treasure. I may have need of ye here, Sassenach.”

I knew he was right. There was the off chance John would let me back in the prison. Or if Jamie did find a way to escape, I needed to be here to help him. Still, it was difficult to accept that I’d have to stay put. “I don’t like doing nothing, Jamie.”

He chuckled, “I ken that well enough.” He rubbed his hands up and down my back and over my bottom. “Ye like to feel useful...and you think with yer body. It doesna suit ye to bide yer time. I’m much the same, mo ghraidh. ’Tis one of the reasons we fit sae well together.”

He wasn’t wrong. He decided to demonstrate that fact by moving his hand down between my legs and showing how well his fingers fit inside. 

“Ye’ll stay in Ardsmuir wi’ me, Claire.” He wasn’t asking.

“Your current method of persuasion is quite unfair, you know.” I squirmed around, though my body wasn’t sure if it wanted to open up and let him in or close itself around him.

“’Tis no persuasion...just distraction...and a wee bit of self-indulgence in my part.” His fingers pumped into me while his palm rubbed outside.

“And what will you be doing while I’m out here biding my time?”

“Aside from distracting ye at nighttime? I’ll be organizing the men to make life hell for our governor until he agrees to see me again. I need something to bargain wi’...even if it’s just cooperation.”

“Be careful, Jamie,” I said, pulling his fingers out of me with talk turning in such an unpleasant direction. “There’s no physician at the prison right now, and the last thing you need is to face a whip or a cat of nine tails.”

He pushed my deflecting hands away and returned to his place from moments before. “I ken what I’m doing, Sassenach.”

“So you get to do whatever you think is best, and I have to sit here and bide my time while the men make something happen?”

“No, Claire, ye’ll do what YOU think is best...and ye ken it’s being patient. I dinna need to convince ye of that.”

He was right. His plan made perfect sense, and there was no reason for me to be running after that Frenchman’s treasure when I needed to be close in case he needed me. I’d never forgive myself if something happened and I wasn’t here.

“Well then, soldier. Since I’m not one to sit idly by and watch things happen around me…” I pushed him back and climbed up over him. “I’ll distract my own self, thank you very much.”

________________________

With Fergus gone off to Lallybroch and back up the coast to Northern Scotland, there was very little for Brianna and I to do in Ardsmuir that would keep us out of trouble...especially in winter.

I felt terribly sorry for Bree. I wasn’t a very great five year old when I was five years old, so I can’t imagine I was her ideal playmate in my thirties. I had thought of letting her stay at Lallybroch with her cousins, but she’d already lost Frank and Jamie, and I couldn’t let her lose her last parent. I had no idea how long I’d be at Ardsmuir.

She’d joined us a time or two in our dreams when she missed Frank terribly or just needed to see Jamie and make sure he was ok. Jamie would take her out on Donas to feel the wind in his hair and his daughter in his arms. 

When it was just the two of us, Jamie favored visiting creeks and lochs. He must've been desperate for a bath. Our plan for the evening was to meet at a hot spring we once bathed in together in France.

I was eager to sleep as always when I knew I’d be meeting him at night. Perhaps, a little too eager; I was early and had to wait quite some time for him to show up to the dream. In fact, I waited so long I thought one of us might have been mistaken about where we were supposed to meet. As I waded in the water and debated whether or not I should go back to Lallybroch, he finally appeared. 

“Jamie!” I rushed to him and wrapped my arms around him. He grunted heavily as though he expected my embrace to pain him terribly. But neither of us had pain in our dreams; we rarely had any discomfort. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, Sassenach.” He smiled softly and pulled me close. “We worked some today, and I’m a wee bit sore is all.”

“Work? What labor could you possibly do in the snow?”

“Dinna fash about it. Let’s just get to soaking, aye? I could use the warmth.”

He moved with a tension I’d rarely seen in him before. He stripped his clothes and stepped into the water with an immense look of relief and dipped down to soak up the warm, nourishing liquid.

He was very obviously not telling me something. 

“Jamie?”

“Come, my Sassenach. I want yer hands on me.”

I could tell I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. He was set in his stubborn Fraser head about keeping me in the dark. It made me worry all the more. The least I could do was provide him whatever comfort he needed. I followed him in the water and wrapped my arms around him.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

He shut me up with a kiss...a very gentle kiss. Jamie didn’t seem in any rush to make love to me...a rare thing for him. He just buried his face in my neck and breathed as we floated in the warm, comforting water. 

“I love you, James Fraser,” I whispered.

He squeezed me tight, but didn’t say anything in return. I realized when a noise caught in his throat that his silence wasn’t intentional. He was gritting his teeth and sweating...unfortunately, the sweat had little to do with the heat of the spring. He was in obvious pain.

“Jamie? Tell me what’s wrong, damn you!” I squeezed him tight and shook him hard.

“Agh!” he nearly collapsed in the water, but he caught himself before we went under. 

“Is it your back?” I could feel the tension under my hands. “What happened to your back, Jamie? Tell me, you stubborn Scot!”

“There’s nothing to be done about it now. Let it bide.”

Then I realized...he was in prison. I knew the most likely cause of injury to his back was... “You were lashed, weren’t you?”

His face was screwed up to stifle the pain, and I knew he must really be suffering if he couldn’t keep up his mask of inscrutability for me.

“Was it John?”

“He had no choice in the matter, Sassenach.”

“No choice! He’s the governor, for God’s sake.”

And I could feel Jamie slipping from my arms. At first I thought he was falling in the water, but then I realized he was leaving. The pain must’ve been too great. He was waking up…God, I hoped he was waking! I couldn’t imagine the alternative.

“No, Jamie! Stay with me.”

“I love ye, Claire. Tell the bairn…”

And he was gone. 

“Jamie!” My arms reached out as though trying to pull him back.

I woke immediately in a panic. My heart was racing and my lungs were sucking in air, demanding oxygen to fuel my body for whatever needed to be done to save my husband. Brianna was asleep next to me in bed, completely oblivious to my distress.

I dressed quickly, all the while regretting sending Fergus away to retrieve the Frenchman’s treasure—a treasure that might not even exist. I thank my good sense for prevailing; I was here and wasn’t running after that fool’s errand myself.

When I was dressed, I gently woke Brianna and got her ready in a state of drowsy confusion. Every motherly instinct I had opposed the idea of taking her out in the middle of a frozen, snowy night. But I couldn’t leave Jamie to die, and I couldn’t leave her at the inn. As soon as I said her Da was hurt, she was as determined as me to do what we could.

Bundled up tight, we made our way out into the snow. The walk to the prison was no short distance and was daunting in the moonlight. I wasn’t looking forward to taking Brianna on that treacherous journey. However, I highly doubted Lord John was spending the night there. Thankfully, Fergus’s reconnaissance informed me of where Lord John had been residing outside the prison. It was much closer to the inn.

I decided to take Dorothy to John’s residence. It was slow going. I had Brianna’s face blocked with my cloak, and a scarf covered most of mine. The freezing temperatures made the distance seem longer than it actually was. 

When we made it to Lord John’s house, I was eager to get Brianna indoors. I’d hoped John would look past my betrayal of our friendship to allow Brianna to thaw before he sent us away.

“Are you alright, darling?” I asked as we walked up to the front door.

She just nodded quietly as her wool covered hand clinged to mine. We stepped up the stairs to the front door and pounded the knocker. Impatience had me pounding again and again to ensure everyone in the house felt the nature of our urgency.

The housekeeper opened the door with a shawl over her shift. “What in God’s name?”

“I need to speak to Lord John Grey at once. It’s a matter of life and death!”

“I should hope so, bangin’ on the door at this hour.” Her eyes widened when she saw Brianna bundled up at my side. “Come in, lass. We’ll get the bairn in by the fire.”

She led us into a parlor where she immediately began stoking the flame to life. When she got it burning bright, she excused herself to make tea while we awaited the master of the house. I sat Brianna down on a seat next to the fireplace to defrost. I couldn’t sit still to save my life and began pacing the floor restlessly. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long.

Lord John came into the parlor buttoning up his jacket. The look of curiosity on his face dropped immediately when he saw me. His eyes narrowed in exasperated irritation. “What are you doing here, Mistress Beauchamp?”

“What have you done to Jamie?” I demanded.

His eyes raised in surprise, “How in God’s name did you…?”

“That doesn’t matter.” I didn’t think it would help my cause for John to know about my strange metaphysical connection to one of his prison gang leaders. “Tell me what happened.”

“I am sorry, my dear, but I owe you no explanations. You, quite frankly, are lucky not to be arrested yourself for…”

“You lashed him, did you? You lashed him, and there isn't a physician there to take care of him! You must let me go see him.”

“I will do no such thing. I understand that in your time with Mr. Fraser, you grew quite fond of him...he is intelligent, charismatic, humorous, and charming, but he is a traitor to crown and country. Need I remind you, that he kidnapped and assaulted you when we first met? He used you then for his own means, and he’s doing the same now.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You know nothing of who James Fraser truly is.”

“I understand. He had me fooled, as well. He behaves in such a way that you believe him uniquely honorable for Highlander, and then you remember what he’s done and what he would do given an opportunity.”

“Mama? Why is that man saying bad things about Da?”

John turned to the fireplace to see little Bree sitting there with her hood off and her flaming, red hair spilling wildly down her back.

“Lord John is mistaken about your father, my love. He doesn’t know him like we do. We’re here to set him straight.”

Brianna stood from her seat and walked up to Lord John with her chin held high and her shoulders square. She looked every bit her father’s daughter.

“My Da is good and strong and brave and likes horses. You owe him an apology for being nasty to him, and you need to let my mama take care of him because she’s a doctor.”

John’s jaw seemed to have disconnected from it’s hinge and was dangling from his face. It took him a moment to gather himself, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly. I took pity on the man and filled him in.

“This is Brianna. Jamie’s daughter.”

John’s head swiveled to me in horror. I realized the appalling conclusion he was arriving at estimating her age and what he believed Jamie did to me at Prestonpans.

“My name is Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser. I married James Fraser three years before Culloden. I have never been in any danger from my husband.”

My little speech didn’t help the state of functioning of his jaw. He backed up until he found the sofa and sat down with little of the grace I was so accustomed to seeing in his movement. I sat in a chair close by as his mind processed his new reality.

Finally, he said, “I see. You both played me for a fool at Prestonpans...and you’ve done so again now.”

“I saved your skin at Prestonpans. If you didn’t give up the information the Jacobites needed, they would’ve had no choice but to torture it out of you. I gave you an honorable way out.” I took a deep breath before continuing on, “Look, John, I thank you, truly, for trying to spare me that day. It did mean a great deal to both me and Jamie.”

“The ‘honorable’ way out,” he scoffed.

“It was honorable.”

“You said so yourself, you were in no danger.”

“But you didn’t know that.” I reached out and touched his arm. “Jamie IS an honorable man, too...just like you. Lying to you on both occasions was my idea. I initiated those schemes. Jamie has been separated from Brianna and I for too many years, and I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him any longer.”

John snatched his hand back from my grasp. “Look, Mistress Beau…” He stopped and amended, “Mistress Fraser. I trusted you twice, and in return, I have been lied to twice. I was under the impression we had something of a friendship building over the course of our acquaintance. Beyond the personal feelings of betrayal I am to overcome, you cannot possibly think it appropriate for me to allow the spouse of my most notorious prisoner to waltz in and out of the prison as she likes to visit her husband!”

“I am not asking to return back to VISIT him. I am asking to care for his injuries. I know he is severely damaged and needs medical attention that, quite frankly, I am uniquely qualified to provide.” John looked down at the floor as I spoke. I could tell he was hearing me. “And you must have seen what your crown and country did to my husband’s back before you lashed him. One hundred lashes on top of one hundred lashes only a week apart...for protecting his sister from a madman redcoat who was trying to rape her! And his hand...the same Captain tortured him years later. He’s suffered enough for your crown and country! He’s lost his wife and daughter, his land, his people! He…”

“Enough! Enough, madam!”

“My husband could die from infection or blood loss or hypothermia, and you have the audacity to tell me…”

“Mistress Fraser, please!” John took a deep breath and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking, and I was quite certain it had nothing to do with the cold. He took several steadying breaths and lifted his eyes to meet mine. “He gave me no choice in punishing him. He took responsibility for possession of a scrap of tartan. I have been informed that the man who owned the tartan was his godfather, Mr. Fitzgibbons Fraser. One of them had to be punished with fifty lashes, and I did not think Mr. Fitzgibbons could withstand it. I had not seen your husband’s scars when I made the decision to accept his false admission. I did not realize…”

John turned his shoulders to me and looked at me pleading. “I did not realize what he had already been through. I took no pleasure from my duty.”

“I know, John. I know. And before you found Jamie and I together after Kester Morrow grabbed me, you were starting to know parts of the real Jamie Fraser. That intelligent, charismatic, humorous, and charming man you described. That’s him. That’s Jamie. I could see you were becoming friends. Let me help him. Let me help your friend. My child’s father. My husband who has suffered a dozen lifetimes of pain and loss at the expense of King George and his redcoats.”

John stared at Brianna, her red hair glittering in the dim firelight. He spoke as he watched her. “Fine, madam. I will take you to your husband. However,” his eyes turned to me and flared as he spoke, “if you lie to me again, I’ll have you both hanged.”

___________________________

I insisted Brianna come with us. John offered his housekeeper watch over her, but I would not let my child out of my sight in this century.

As we waited for Jamie to be brought to my little prison clinic, I set the water to boil and prepped for all manner of possible medical complications that could arise. Brianna was able to finagle some paper and charcoal from Lord John, and per my encouragement, was sketching a picture for her father to lift his spirits.

Jamie was dragged in rather unceremoniously by two redcoats. They laid him face down on the bed closest to the fire. I forced myself to stay still until John dismissed them and closed the door behind them. When it was just the four of us in the room, I ran to my husband and dropped to my knees.

“Jamie!” I held his head in my arms. “Are you alright?”

His eyes fluttered open and closed. “Is that you, mo nighean donn? I canna stay long...the pain and cold are keeping me awake.”

“It’s not a dream, my love. John let come tend your wounds.”

“Ye’re here?”

I nodded, “I am.” I kissed him softly, and I heard a pained moan of relief. “I’ll take care of you, Jamie.”

“Ye always do.”

I enlisted John to help me remove his clothes. Jamie grunted and groaned as we peeled off his coat and shirt. 

“Oh dear God,” I gasped. His back was lashed with open wounds all over.

“The punishment for carrying the tartan is a set fifty lashes. I couldn’t do any less,” said John shamefully.

“He went easy on me, Sassenach,” Jamie groaned. “He was light on the wind up, and he skipped the last three.”

“You overestimate my strength, Jamie,” said John. “I put all I had into each swing and gave you five extra for the sheer joy of it.”

Jamie chuckled at John’s poor attempt at a joke, but stopped midway in a groan of pain. 

“Let me get you some laudanum,” I said.

“Nay, Sassenach. I dinna want to be out of my senses in here. Just tend to me as you must. I’ll endure.”

I had John assist me with cleaning the wounds. As we worked on Jamie’s back, Brianna came to her father with her new drawing in hand. 

“Brianna,” he whispered in shock. 

“Does it hurt, Da?”

“Aye, a nighean. It does a bit. I’ve had worse though. It will be fine wi’ yer mother here to doctor me.”

John cleared his throat quietly as though trying to remove an obstruction without notice. Shame at his role in this child’s father’s suffering was painted plainly over his face.

“I made you this,” she said. “It’s a drawing of us on Donas. I wish I had color crayons so you could see it’s at Lallybroch.”

Jamie took the picture and looked it over. “Ye’re a talented wee thing, a leannan...and only five years old. Yer granny would be proud.” He grabbed her hand and kissed her little knuckles. “Thank ye, m’annsachd. I will treasure it always.”

Brianna bent down to give her father a kiss on the cheek. I had to wipe away the tears filling my eyes before continuing on, lest I couldn’t see what I was doing. 

“Ye’re sleepy, a nighean?” Jamie asked Bree. “Ye’ve been up all night, aye?”

Brianna nodded. 

“Here, darling,” I said. “There’s another bed over here.”

“Nah,” said Jamie. He reached, despite his pain, and hooked her around the waist. He pulled her up beside him in bed. I had to move out of the way and readjust everything I was doing to accommodate them, but both father and daughter seemed pleased with the arrangement as she snuggled her back into him and hugged his big, heavy arm like one of her prized stuffed animals. He murmured soft Gaelic words into her ear as I tended his back.

When we finished bandaging the wounds, John stepped away to the fire and bent his head in quiet contemplation. I wasn’t certain, but I thought he may have wiped a tear from his eye. 

Jamie and Brianna were both sleeping now. I stroked Bree’s cheek and elicited the smallest of smiles. I did the same to Jamie even knowing he was unlikely to respond as such in so much pain, but was surprised by the slightest lift of the corner of his mouth.

I started cleaning my supplies, readying them for their next use. John sat at the table next to me as I worked. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. “I truly regret what I did...but I still can’t see any other way. Carrying tartan is treason...I would have been a party to it if I’d not responded as such. And a lashing like that would’ve killed Fitzgibbons.”

John stared at Jamie, looking quite crushed and broken-hearted. “If only there was a way I could make it up to your family.”

I shrugged, “You could allow me to continue taking care of him.”

“Of course, my dear.”

I laughed, “You couldn’t happen to secure a pardon for him, could you?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. I’m afraid that power lies far beyond my rank and significance.”

I stopped still as my mind turned over myriad possibilities. “What about…there are rumors of the crown selling prisoners to indenture…”

John shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking madam. There is talk of indentures, but the prisoners will be sold in America where they will be unlikely to start another Scottish rebellion, and there is no way the crown will be letting James Fraser, Red Jamie, out of its grasp unless it has sufficient evidence he is reformed or has provided some significant service to the crown. Even if, on the off chance he was sold for indenture, the price would be very great indeed. If, somehow, you could come up with the exorbitant amount of gold it would take to buy the indenture, they would NOT sell him to his own wife.”

“Would they sell him to you?” I raised an eyebrow.

John coughed, “Unlikely. I have been his governor while incarcerated. I’ve no doubt eyebrows would be raised at the mere suggestion of...” his voice trailed off.

I sat down defeated alongside him.

I could almost feel the lift in energy beside me as John’s voice picked back up. “...unless it wasn’t me. But, perhaps, someone quite above my station. Someone with far greater influence...someone we could trust.”

My eyes flashed up to John. I tried all in my power not to let his tone give me hope...I was failing miserably. “Who?”

“The Duke of Pardloe.”

“And that is?”

“My brother.”

___________________________

It took Jamie longer than it should have to heal, mostly because he was a terrible patient. I insisted he stay in the clinic for a couple weeks so he could keep warm and sanitized during the healing process, and John was willing to allow it, but that damn, stubborn Scot wouldn’t cooperate. 

Jamie insisted he couldn’t leave his men for that long. Part of his motivation was likely to get Brianna and me out of the prison for at least part of the day. John had kindly, but intently, insisted his carriage be at our disposal so Brianna wouldn’t have to endure the discomfort of the cold weather during the commute. John had been excessively generous and accommodating since beating my husband half to death.

Business at the prison clinic went on as usual for the next several weeks. I immediately started seeing regular patients again, suffering from frostbite, scurvy, and bronchitis, but every morning I insisted my first patient be Mr. Fraser so we could have a few moments of privacy as a family before the intrusion of other prisoners.

“Take off your shirt,” I demanded one morning after he kissed me hello. 

“Feeling bawdy, Sassenach?” he smirked as he kissed Brianna on the temple. She was resting on the bed closest to the fire, sleepy from our early morning commute. He pulled the blanket up around her and rubbed her arms to make sure she was warm. The sweetest little smile graced her face.

“Are you getting old?” I said. “I never used to have to ask twice.”

Jamie peeled off his shirt. “Ye ken, ye used to ask me to take off my shirt for better reasons than poking and prodding festering wounds.”

“Then you shouldn’t have declined John’s offer to spend nights here with me.”

His jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth. I pulled off the old bandages to see how everything looked.

“Your back is healing well...finally,” I grumbled. It could’ve looked like this a week ago if he’d been constantly under my supervision.

“The itching has mostly stopped. It’s only a wee bit tender to the touch.”

I set to wrapping him up with fresh bandages. He endured with minimal complaint and only a few Scottish grunts. It wasn’t until I finished that I saw the muscles in his back go rigid. 

Jamie’s face was impassive, but I could tell he wasn’t tense from pain. I followed his line of sight to the door. Tom Christie was watching us. His redcoat escort nodded to me and to the guard outside my door before taking his leave.

“Hello, Mr. Christie,” I said.

“Mistress Beauchamp,” his tone was full of its typical curt and pompousness.

“Are you unwell?” I asked as I handed Jamie his shirt.

“I’m quite fine, I assure you. The guard recommended I receive an examination after I fell a little faint and suffered a bout of nausea this morning.”

Jamie chimed in beside me, “There was a bit of a stramash in the cell, Sassenach.” I could hear Jamie’s condescending amusement underlying his words, “The guards dinna ken of the fighting, of course, but Tom’s wame quivers at the sight of blood. They must’ve caught him retching when Duncan Innes caught a bloody nose.”

“I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business, Fraser,” said Tom. He didn’t deny Jamie’s speculation.

“Alright,” I said. “Come grab a seat on the examination table. I’ll assess your vitals and make sure you’re well before you return to the cell.”

Tom didn’t take his eyes off Jamie as he sat down. He spoke quietly, “Does he have to be here?”

I took his pulse and tried not to smile. “I’m afraid so. Even injured his presence is a deterrent for those with more violent inclinations.”

“Ah, yes. I heard about Mr. Morrow. I apologize on behalf of the prisoners for his behavior. I assure you, he hasn’t gone unpunished...and not just by the governor.”

“Thank you, but I do not seek retribution. He only left a scratch thanks to Mr. Fraser.”

Tom continued to speak as I went on with my examination. His voice was low enough that Jamie likely couldn't hear. “I must admit my concern for you, Mistress Beauchamp.”

“Whatever for?”

His eyes remained warily on Jamie. “I have connections amongst some of the guards. They’ve spoken of rumors that Mr. Fraser kidnapped and assaulted you at Prestonpans, and that the governor’s intervention may well have saved your life.”

“I wouldn’t listen to rumors, Mr. Christie. Information that doesn’t come from the source is often unreliable.”

“Are you saying that it didn’t happen as Lord John tells it?”

“I don’t think I’ve made any comments on what did or did not occur. Now, follow my finger with your eyes. Don’t move your head, please. That’s it.”

“I saw you’ve bandaged Fraser’s back.”

“Indeed.”

He shook his head. “Mistress Beauchamp, did you not see those wounds weren’t the first of the sort he suffered?”

“Of course, I noticed. What does that matter?”

“A man doesn’t get lashed so excessively for honorable and respectable behavior. He may appear contained and mannerly, but appearances can be deceiving.”

“I’m in no danger from Mr. Fraser, I assure you.”

“Mistress!” he grabbed my arm in obvious concern, not aggression. Jamie was standing to come to my defense, but I waved him back. Tom let go and said, “Mistress, I’ve seen Fraser kill a man with his bare hands. It was one of the guards. A sergeant...a ruthless, cruel bastard, but a person, nonetheless. Fraser saw an opportunity last fall while we were laboring, and he didn’t hesitate to strangle the man and drop him in a ravine. He walked away like he did nothing more than toss a fish back in a stream. He can pretend to be one way, but something dark lurks beneath the facade. You cannot trust him.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself. I did believe Jamie capable of Tom’s accusation, but I was certain whoever he killed had it coming if Jamie saw fit to end his life. “Perhaps he had his reasons. We don’t always know the motivations behind someone’s actions. Take his most recent punishment, for example. Did you hear why Lord John lashed Mr. Fraser?”

Tom looked away and grumbled, “Of course, I did. He took the lashing for his godfather.”

“And as far as the old scars on his back, who’s to say Mr. Fraser didn’t get them the same way as these last ones? By protecting someone he loves. You should know as well as anyone, Mr. Christie, that honor in war and times of unrest is highly subjective and usually decided by the winner.”

He rolled his eyes. “Be that as it may, I question the sanity of a man who would endure such a beating voluntarily after already knowing what it felt like having been through it before.”

If I didn’t know Jamie so well, I’d question his sanity, too. And for someone as squeamish to blood and pain as Mr. Christie, I could imagine the thought would be incomprehensible.

“Look, Mistress. I can see Mr. Fraser has already had some degree of influence over you. Your face hides none of the affection you have for him. He protected you once, so it’s understandable that you might be vulnerable to his charms. I advise you, madam, to guard yourself. Guard your heart, lest you be hurt when he discards you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but there are things you may not be privy to about Mr. Fraser’s motivations. He’s not the man you’ve painted him to be.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right. And maybe sharing what I know if his character may not influence you. But there is one more thing about him you should know...There are things you learn about a man living with him for months in a cell. One thing I know with certainty about that man is that he’s truly not capable of returning whatever feeling you have budding up for him.” He actually looked sorry for me. “He calls for a woman in his sleep….sometimes in terror and agony...sometimes in the intimate climax of lovers. The men say the woman he calls for was his wife...Claire. Some say she died at Culloden. Others say she was killed as he was brought here. Others say she’s a witch or faerie who could never really die. Either way, it doesn’t matter. If there is any love in that man’s heart, it’s for the woman he lost. The one he cries out for every night in his sleep.”

Tears filled my eyes as I listened, though not for the reasons Tom Christie thought. I turned around and looked at Jamie. He was watching us intently. 

“Dear God, is that a child?” said Christie. He finally glimpsed Brianna who was stirring in her bed.

“Yes,” I sniffled and wiped the tears from my eyes. “My daughter, Brianna. My son is away at present, so she must stay with me during the day.”

“Madam,” he said, scandalized, “You’d risk your child in the company of such a man?” 

I couldn’t help my laugh, “It’s hardly a risk.” Brianna sat up and noticed Jamie. A smile brightened up her sleepy face as she hopped out of bed and ran to her father. “She’s quite fond of him...and he of her.”

“Fond? Have you not listened to anything I’ve said, Mistress Beauchamp?”

“I’ve heard every word. Have you not listened to what I’ve been saying, Mr. Christie? That there are forces at work here that perhaps you are not privy to.”

“What on Earth could you…” he stopped, completely dumbstruck. 

No one who saw Jamie and Brianna together could mistake their relation. Looks aside, their mutual adoration for one another completely gave them away.

Christie looked at me in shock. “Was it at Prestonpans?”

I laughed without humor. “Oh, I don’t know when it happened. Do spouses usually know the exact place and time of such things?”

“Spouses?”

I realized I was fiddling with the ring on my finger absentmindedly. Even while attending to Brianna, Jamie had been watching Tom and me. Seeing that I was done with the examination, Jamie lifted Brianna and came over to the two of us.

“Are ye finished then, Claire?” Jamie asked.

I heard Tom’s intake of breath at Jamie’s confirmation of my identity. Apparently, we weren’t speaking as quietly as we thought.

“Yes, quite,” I said. “Come back if your symptoms worsen, Mr. Christie.”

Tom bowed formally. All warmth was gone from his tone when he said, “Thank you, Mistress...Fraser.” Jamie handed Brianna over to me and escorted Tom out of the clinic. A guard followed close behind.

I bounced Brianna on my hip and made her giggle as her father walked away. I hoped Tom Christie wouldn’t be a problem for us. Somehow, I thought our secret safe with him despite his irrational dislike for Jamie. Though, I suppose it didn’t matter any longer since the governor knew the truth.

And speaking of the governor...not long after, Lord John came striding into the clinic briskly with a letter in his hand and a smile on his face. He bowed in his gentlemanly manner. “Good morning, madam. And to you, Miss Bree.”

“John!” said Brianna. She rushed over to give him a hug.

“Where is your father, my dear?”

“What is it,” I asked. “Word from your brother?”

“Indeed. Good news at that.”

If I ever had any question as to Lord John’s motivation for helping Jamie, it was answered by the look in his eyes when Jamie came back into the clinic. A near radiant joy bubbled under the surface of the governor’s face.

“Jamie,” John said, nearly breathless. I couldn’t say I blamed the man; Jamie made me feel the same on countless occasions. But he was MY husband damn it.

John handed Jamie the letter from his brother. Jamie turned to me grinning. “The Duke has used his influence to set into motion the plan for closing the prison and selling the prisoners to indenture in the colonies. We’ll ask my Aunt Jocasta to buy as many of the indentures as she can, and ye can pay her as soon as we can find someone we trust to sail to North Carolina with whatever fortune we have.”

“And you, Jamie? What does the letter say about you?”

“Hmphm.” He looked at the letter once more. “It appears I shall be serving my parole in service of the Dunsany family at Helwater under the supervision of...Lord John Grey.”

“What does that mean?”

John smiled, “It means you’re moving to England, my dear.”


	12. The Absence of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a beast. I've split it into two. There will be one more after this. Enjoy!

The Absence of Dreams  
___________________

The sun had long since set, and darkness lay like a blanket over the grounds as Jamie walked exhausted back to his quarters. His muted steps on the worn path were unheard by the sleeping birds in the nearby trees. He smelled of horses...a consequence of being a groom. He didn’t mind; he loved the beasts. And he loved the crisp, spring air. What’s more, he loved being out of a prison cell shared with too many other men.

But, ifrinn, he missed his family. His patience at waiting to see them again was wearing thin. He had more contact with them in prison than on his parole.

And he’d been struggling to meet Claire in their dreams.

John had escorted Jamie to Helwater over a month before, but Claire and the children stayed behind in the village so as not to raise any eyebrows about her following directly behind, perchance anyone was watching. John saw him settled in his position and left back for Ardsmuir to see his family safely to England.

Jamie knew why John was helping him, and it had nothing to do with feeling guilt over lashing him over that scrap of tartan. Jamie saw the way John looked at him...especially when Claire wasn’t watching. But Jaime was clear with the man about where they stood in their friendship. Jamie just wished he wasn’t quite so dependent on that friendship at the moment...John held his whole world in the palm of his hands. 

The longer it took John to bring his family back to him, the more fretful Jamie became. He contemplated night after night whether he should steal one of the Dunsany horses and ride the road back to Ardsmuir.

But that would be foolish. John would certainly see his family safe; Jamie would never forgive him otherwise.

He made his way down the row of rooms in grooms’ quarters. There was little privacy in the building. In some rooms he could hear the loud snores of the men, while others found some boisterous romantic companionship for the evening. He ignored it all as best he could and just kept walking.

When he made it to his door, he noticed a muted light shining through the cracks from inside. Someone must have lit the coals in his brazier. 

Tension coursed through him. Damn it to hell! It was probably that damn girl...Geneva Dunsany. Hardly old enough to be considered a woman, she didn’t act like it. No, she acted like a damn whore, throwing herself at him when he’d turned her away a half dozen times, all whilst betrothed to another.

Perhaps he should just stay outside for the night and avoid whatever unpleasantness awaited him in that room. Lord John spoke clear that the Dunsany family was the only family willing to take on a high level prisoner like him, and the reason being because only Lord William Dunsany knew he was the infamous Red Jamie. If his wife, Louisa, ever found out, she’d demand Jamie be sent away, probably to Wentworth or some other brick and metal hell in retribution for the death of her son in the Rising.

Then again, if someone noticed the girl missing from her room, and she was found in Jamie’s, he’d likely be facing the noose. There was nothing for it; he must go in and deal with wretched wee nuisance.

He took a deep breath, grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open…To his great relief, it wasn’t the foolish lass, at all.

Three bodies were lying asleep in his small room, one on his bed and two on little piles of hay on the floor covered in blankets. His heart thundered in his chest at the sight of his family.

“Claire!” he whispered, fearful of rousing the groom in the neighboring room. He closed the door and rushed to his wife’s bedside. He held her face in his hands and kissed her awake. 

“Jamie,” she sighed in relief. Her arms came about him and she buried her face in his neck. 

To be reunited with his love...there was nothing quite like it. Relief and hope and joy and fear, but most of all, a sense of rightness. As though the world finally settled into place after hurtling chaotically through the stars.

She smelled lovely...like vanilla and flowers and peace. 

“How did ye get here, mo nighean donn?”

“John brought us to the village a few days ago. He found us a little cottage to stay in not far away. He doesn’t know we’re here at the moment,” she said with a mix of sheepishness and pride. “He wanted us to wait until after he spoke with you and devised a plan to meet somewhere.”

“John didna learn well enough about yer disobedient streak at Ardsmuir, eh?”

“I’m afraid not. I sent Fergus to find you the day we arrived. He’s been watching ever since, making sure it would be safe to bring Brianna.”

“When did ye sneak in? How did no one see ye?”

“Oh, in the afternoon sometime. Fergus noticed no one was ever in their rooms during working hours, so we just slipped in.”

Jamie pulled away briefly to check in on Brianna and Fergus. He caressed their cheeks gently in their sleep. Neither of them stirred. 

“I’m sorry I kept ye waiting. I should ha’ come sooner, but we’ve a mare wi’ an injured leg.”

“It’s alright. They’ll see you in the morning. And if you’re not too tired, we’ll have a few moments to ourselves before going to sleep.”

“Too tired?” he scoffed, pulling off his shoes and pants. “I’ve come back to find my wife in my bed after more than a month wi’out her, and ye think I’m feeling anything close to tired?”

Jamie crawled into the small bed next to Claire. He pulled off his shirt and kept it next to the bed in case the children woke. The relief and satisfaction of having his wife in his arms with a full night ahead of them relaxed him from head to toe. Their synchronized sighs turned to laughs against each other’s cheeks.

He nuzzled her hair as his hands made their way up and down her body. She wore nothing but a thin shift, barely separating hand from skin...it was still too much. He pulled the shift up around her waist so he could grab a hold of her bare bottom.

“Thank God, ye’ve been eating well,” he whispered as he kneaded her full, fat arse.

“I haven’t, actually. My appetite has been as absent as my husband. I’ve been quite sick to my stomach with worry, as a matter of fact. This is the first time I’ve felt decent in over a month.”

“Weel, I’m sorry ye’ve no been well, Sassenach, but...” he squeezed her bottom and ground his cock against her, “...thankfully, yer bum has protested any neglect of stomach and hasna fallen prey to lack of nourishment. I may be able to feel each of yer ribs, but yer arse is plump and yer breasts are full.”

He squeezed said parts greedily as he took her mouth. The woman started making her eager wee noises. “Shhhh,” he said against her lips. “Dinna wake the bairns. This will be quick.”

He rolled on top of her, concerned he was crushing her with his weight, but her legs and arms were pulling him harder down. His arms wrapped all the way around her little body so she was lifted off the bed. Her hips moved synchronized with his, and their joining was a perfect alignment of long-time lovers.

Jamie barely had the self-restraint to see his wife satisfied before he lost hold himself. Her name was on his lips as his seed spilled. “God, I love ye, Claire.”

“I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.” She was sated and breathless. To aid her lungs, he rolled aside and pulled her body with him.

“Tell me everything that happened since I left Ardsmuir,” he said.

“There’s not much to tell. We’ve mostly been travelling or waiting around. John sent the letter you wrote to your Aunt Jocasta along with the prisoners, so hopefully she’ll be able to purchase their indentures. I’ve picked up a couple of patients in the village. Brianna has been drawing like mad and has a dozen new pictures for you, at least. That’s really all that’s been happening. What about you? How has it been here?”

“Hmphm. Alright, I suppose. Better than shackles.”

“You’re working with the horses?”

“Aye. Fine beasts, at that.” 

A look must have crossed his face when he thought of the more important things he should tell her, because she stiffened in his arms and asked, “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

Jamie had not been trying to hide his thoughts from his wife, but it was still uncomfortable to talk about such things. “’Tis nothing, Sassenach. Only...the family who own Helwater are a wee bit...trying. I’m kent here only as Alex MacKenzie. If the lady of the house knew my true name, the name of a rebellion leader, I’d be back in another prison before I could lace up my breeks. Most of the grooms call me Mac.”

“The lady sounds charming.”

“Quite. And her eldest daughter even more so.”

“Spoiled little weasel, the child?”

“Hmphm. Aye. Though, she’s no exactly a bairn, ken.” 

Jamie must have been looking very sheepish, indeed, because Claire’s eyebrow raised and she pulled away. “Oh, I see. Making a play for my husband?”

“She kens I’m marrit. She’s betrothed herself...to an Earl, no less. The Eight Earl of Ellesmere. He’s a filthy auld wretch, and she doesna want the man to be the first she lies wi’. She’s...insistent.”

“Is that so? Does she know your wife is a witch? Tell her I’ll put a hex on her if she comes too close.”

Jamie gave her a squeeze, pulling her reluctant body back in, “I willna let her come too close, Sassenach, as ye ken verra well.”

Properly reassured, Claire let out a great yawn. Her body was growing heavy in his arms. Jamie was feeling quite relaxed himself, reunited with his family and only minutes past his climax. He grabbed his shirt lying next to the bed and put it back on in case the children woke early. Then, he cuddled Claire back in his arms.

“Fergus said he noticed many of the servants have visitors and families,” said Claire.

“Aye. Most of them are free to do as they please on their own time.”

“And are you free to do what you please on your time?”

“Hmphm. I’m on parole. I dinna have my own time. I suppose I should speak to John about the possibility of formal arrangements for visits.”

“And if you’re denied?”

Jamie couldn’t help but laugh. “I dinna ken anyone to be successful in denying ye anything for long, Sassenach. We’ll figure something out.”

Claire yawned again, triggering Jamie to follow suit.

“Where did ye hide the treasure, Sassenach?” The last thing they needed was to lose the gems and ancient coins that would one day pay back his aunt for buying those indentures.

She lifted a tired finger to her dress hanging over a chair. “Sewn up in the pockets and such.”

“Good lass.”

He kissed her forehead, and she hummed in contentment.

“Have I thanked ye, Claire?”

“For what?”

“For standing by me through all this madness?”

“Oh, well...I’m sure it was implied. But it’s always nice to hear.”

“Thank ye, mo nighean donn. Anyone else would ha’ given up on me long ago.”

She snuggled against him and mumbled as she drifted off, “Well, you didn’t marry a fool.”

“No,” he laughed. “I didna.”

______________________________

“You’ve got a bounce in your step today, Mac,” said one of the other grooms called Andrew. The bastard wore an all too knowing smirk. “Does that have anything to do with the thumping of your bed against my wall last night?”

“Hmphm.” Perhaps he and Claire weren’t as quiet as he’d hoped. They’d only made love the one time, as tired as they were. And Brianna woke after they’d fallen asleep and crawled into the too small bed between them. The lack of space left him balancing precariously in his sleep on the edge of the bed. If Jamie had any sort of bounce in his step, it had everything to do with knowing his family was safe, and nothing to do with how well he slept. He’d trade a thousand sleepless nights for that kind of reassurance.

“Did the girl finally sink her claws into you, Mac?” asked another groom. He knew they were talking about Geneva Dunsany.

“Don’t be daft.” Jamie concealed any reaction and was pleased he didn’t even flush at the suggestion. He didn’t want to give them any more reason to run about with their rumors. 

“Come now,” said Andrew. “We know you’re married and a papist, but what your wife and pope don’t know can’t hurt them. You can tell us. We won’t utter a word.”

“Be gone wi’ ye.”

The grooms laughed heartily at his expense. The last thing he needed was for Lord Dunsany to think him sniffing about his daughter. He had half a mind to tell them the truth if he wasn’t afraid of the consequences of that, too. His wife always advised him, ‘discretion is the better part of valor,’ so he kept his mouth shut.

He got through the rest of the day without any more trouble. None of the men were stupid enough to push him too hard about what they heard in his room the night before...he was much bigger than the rest of them, and it wouldn’t do them any good to cause trouble.

Nevertheless, he was relieved at the arrival of Lord John Grey in the late afternoon to take him away from the curious and watchful eyes. John took Jamie out to a quiet place on the grounds for private conversation and a game of chess. As soon as they were out behind a copse of trees, Jamie looked around to make sure no one followed. 

“Thank ye, John,” he said with all the sincerity in his heart. “I’m grateful to ye seeing my family safe.”

John’s face fell in shock as he wondered how Jamie knew his family to be safe. An amused smirk lifted the corner of his mouth when he realized. “Ah...Mistress Fraser did not heed my advice, I take it?”

Jamie chuckled quietly. “She’s got the will of a Fraser, to be certain.”

“Indeed. Stubborn and bullheaded, the lot of you.”

“D’ye think Dunsany would allow visits with Claire and the bairns?”

“That would be highly unusual for a prisoner of war to be allowed contact with his family.”

“Come, John. Ye ken I’m less of a risk for flight when I’m allowed to see my wife and children. Separating us might make me consider ways of finding my own freedom.”

“I know that...but I’m not certain Lord William would agree.”

“Should I speak with him?”

“God, no. Let me talk to Dunsany. I’ll get some brandy in his blood and see if I can strike up some sort of arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?”

“If he agrees to allow visitation, he’ll likely impose some sort of parameters. I’m sure he has mixed feelings about you, what with you being such a notorious criminal. My brother, in particular, is not very fond of you after what my debt of honor forced him to do after Culloden...”

Jamie rolled his eyes, “I'm sorry sparing my life was so cumbersome for him.”

John continued as though he wasn’t listening. “...and I’m sure he shared those concerns with Dunsany. But Lord William has been quite impressed with the quality of your work and elegant manners. Perhaps I could convince him to arrange a meeting of once a week if...”

“Once a week?!”

“...he’s sufficiently intoxicated and disposed to generosity. And you should be grateful at that.”

Jamie clenched his jaw and sat irritated on one of the boulders where John began setting up his chess board. He couldn’t imagine Claire would stand for seeing him only once a week. And he didn’t like the idea of her getting caught sneaking on and off the grounds, especially with the children.

“I’ll speak with him tonight. My brother should be arriving here for a visit in a few days, and I’d rather he not poison Dunsany further against you before I make your request.” John set up his pieces in deep thought. “You know, Claire will have to restrain her impulses to visit you at night. It could ruin everything.”

“Aye…” Jamie looked up to John with a smirk on his face, “but ye’ll have to be the one to tell her.”

________________________

“Absolutely not!” I said. “Do you have any idea how many years we’ve been apart?”

“Quite, my dear. You’ve shared this with me a half dozen times, at least,” said John.

“Well, you’ll hear it a few dozen more until you convince Lord Dunsany to let me see my husband. For Christ’s sake, he should want me around Jamie, if not for more than dissuading his little strumpet of daughter away from the family’s newest groom!”

“Madam! It’s quite unbecoming to speak of a lady of Miss Dunsany’s situation as such…”

“Oh, it’s fucking unbecoming for that little tart to be throwing herself at my husband every chance she gets. I’m not sure her betrothed would be pleased to hear how she’s propositioned Jamie.”

John’s eyes were wide with horror at the thought of a woman behaving as such. “Did Jamie tell you she’s been behaving in this manner?”

“Of course, he did.”

John pressed his lips tightly together as he gathered himself. “The eldest Miss Dunsany has ever been...spirited.”

“Trying to lure a married man into her bed not long before her own wedding is what you’d call ‘spirited?’ And you think Catholics are barbarians?”

Fergus chuckled from across the room in our cottage where he sat with Brianna teaching her how to play whist with a set of handmade cards.

“Look, John. You know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for our family. It’s just maddening that we’ve lived more of our marriage apart than together. I’ve watched him suffer and nearly die countless times...and...and bad things tend to happen when we’re apart. I’m done living a life without my husband. I need to be there for him. I need to take care of him.”

John leaned across the table and squeezed my hand. Sympathy filled in his eyes. I squeezed back as much in receiving comfort as giving an apology for my outburst at him. He didn’t deserve my ire.

“Dunsany has agreed to visitation in two days' time after Jamie’s finished his work at the stables in the late afternoon. I trust you’ll have no difficulty finding your way through the grounds in broad daylight rather than the dark of night? Or do you require an escort?”

“I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure you will, my dear. Be careful, Claire. The Dunsanys are Jamie’s last chance at any sort of freedom in this life.”

I pulled my hand away and crossed my arms, “If you believe that, you haven’t learned a thing about Jamie...or me.”

________________________

Waiting those two days was excruciating, but I managed to do so without sneaking out to Jamie’s room in the middle of the night. I rode Donas down to the estate so Jamie could see his horse. I’m sure he missed the beast terribly, even if he was a bit of a handful for me to ride.

I’m sure that if I rode up to the front of the estate, I’d have grooms coming out of the woodwork to attend to me, but since I arrived around the back at the stables, I was all but ignored. My husband was ever easy to spot, even at a distance, with his gorgeous hair glistening in the sun. He was shoveling manure. Donas seemed drawn to him like a beacon. 

Since he was still working, I took my time coming closer, watching the beautiful lines of his body move with every scoop of the shovel. He was quite a specimen.

And I wasn't the only one who noticed…

A young woman in a finely made dress was staring at Jamie as he worked. Her hands were clenched at her sides as though steeling herself for something requiring courage. Two great big breaths and she stepped toward Jamie. She said something to him, and he paused only briefly before shoveling more shit. I eased Donas closer so I could catch scraps of their conversation.

“I am damned if my maidenhead will be given to a depraved old goat like Ellesmere!” the girl muttered much less quiet than she seemed to think. 

Jamie mumbled something under his breath and turned back to the large pile of manure.

The girl went on, “I couldn’t understand how someone of John Grey’s standing would spend so much time with a common groom. But when his brother arrived yesterday and was plied with glass after glass of port, he shared quite a tale with me...a story of attempted murder, oaths given, debts paid. Imagine my surprise when I discovered our outstanding master of horses, Alex MacKenzie, is the notorious Jacobite soldier, Red Jamie. Mother would not be pleased that a leader of the battle that killed my brother was imposing on her charity and kindness.”

Jamie was tapping his hand on the side of his leg, and his jaw was twitching with restrained rage. He must’ve been very consumed, the poor man, because for a hunter usually excessively aware of his environment, he hadn’t noticed his wife ride up on a great warhorse in the middle of his workplace. 

Neither had the girl. Well, this little biscuit was not the first to try to coerce sex from my husband, but I’d be damned before allowing anyone to do it again.

“Now...I will expect you…” said the girl.

Claire cut her off as she maneuvered Donas into the strumpet’s line of sight. The girl seemed startled by Claire’s appearance. She was much younger than her words suggested from moments before.

“And who are you?” said the girl, clearly shocked to see a strange woman of some breeding riding around her family’s stables.

Jamie’s head turned quickly, and his eyes lit up at seeing me. A looked crossed over his face that suggested a bit of discomfort at what I may or may not have overheard. I smirked at him and allowed my glass face to show I knew exactly what happened.

He straightened himself up elegantly and said to the girl, “My lady, allow me to introduce my WIFE, Mistress MacKenzie. This is Miss Geneva Dunsany.”

The poor girl turned a sickly shade of chartreuse as Jamie came to help me off Donas. He hugged me tight and kissed me softly.

“Mistress MacKenzie,” said Geneva, regaining some of her composure. After nodding rather than bowing in my direction, she turned her chin up and looked down her nose at me. “Or should I call you Mistress Fraser?”

“Whatever your pleasure. I’m quite fond of all my husband’s names. I hear I shall be addressing you as Lady Ellesmere quite soon. Congratulations, my lady. I’m sure he must be an exceptional man to win the likes of your affections. If I wasn’t so happily married myself, I might just envy what’s sure to be such overwhelming marital bliss.”

Jamie squeezed me by the waist in warning. “Pardon us, my lady,” Jamie said. “We’ll no interrupt yer afternoon any longer. I’m sure ye're verra busy in preparation for yer wedding.” And with all the elegance he brought to the French court, he gave a respectful bow and turned away. 

“Ye brought Donas,” he said. His eyes lit with joy. His arm held me firm against his side as he patted his horse. Jamie spoke endearingly to him in Gaelic and nuzzled him almost as affectionately as he did me.

I could hear the young woman’s huffy breath as she turned back to the house. When we were certain she was gone, Jamie said, “Ye shouldna ha’ antagonized her, Sassenach. She’s no reason to keep our secret.”

“Of course she does. Imagine what her parents would do to her if they knew she was propositioning their groom to fuck the virginity out of her before she marries that Earl.”

“Hmphm. She has a hot temper, mo chridhe. She willna think of the consequences of crossing ye. She may well blow her reputation to shreds for the sake of her pride. I could be hauled off to yet another prison and you would be left alone wi’ the bairns yet again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If anyone comes after you, we’ll take off to Italy like we planned.”

“And what of Murtagh? The Lindsays? Hayes? Innes? You and Fergus canna go retrieve them; ye’ll be as wanted as I am helping me escape.”

“Your men will be in your aunt’s good hands. I’m far more concerned about keeping society’s predators away from my husband than I am about a bunch of men an ocean away.” 

Jamie pulled me into his chest and kissed the top of my head. The embrace sucked the tension from my body and a wave of emotion washed over me. “It’s alright, mo ghraidh. We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m getting tired, Jamie. All I want is a simple life. One where I go to sleep with my husband in bed every night knowing that I’ll wake up with him still there in the morning. I want my children safe and happy. Is that too much to ask?”

“I want that, too, Sassenach.” He held my face in his hands. “I want to give ye everything you want, everything ye deserve. It pains me to see ye this way.”

“It’s just a moment of self-pity, is all.” I straightened up and pulled myself back together. “Come now, show me off to your friends and give me a tour of the grounds so everyone will know perfectly well who’s screaming your name when you take me back to your quarters.”

Jamie grinned and patted me on the arse. “Just make sure yer screaming the right name, Sassenach. I should think I’d be taken at a disadvantage if someone should rush looking for Red Jamie while I’m buried deep inside ye and all my sense is in my cock and not my heid.”

“Do you prefer me to call out the name ‘Alex’ or ‘Mac?’”

He didn’t look like he cared much for either option. “On second thought, just scream for God himself. We’ll need all the prayer we can get.”

I kissed him deeply for anyone to see. Jamie indulged me, whether it was because he saw the value in announcing the state of our affection to the entire estate or because he just liked the feel of my lips, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. I pushed my tongue deeper.

We pulled apart in a flushed state to a symphony of whistles and cheers from Jamie’s fellow grooms. 

“Perhaps we’ll take that tour of grounds a bit later, Sassenach. I need to take ye to my room and hear ye call me any names ye like before I’ll be fit for public again.”

_________________________

A tour of the grounds was not fated for our first week of visitation. Jamie and I stayed in bed the rest of the day given that we had no children to interrupt us. But as wonderful as that night was, it was all too short-lived. The days since were painful and tension-filled without him. I waited impatiently to hear if Geneva let out the secret of Jamie’s identity or if she continued on her path to coercion. 

As best as I could, I tried to distract myself with patients. As with every new village I arrived in, once a handful of customers had satisfactory experiences, their families and friends would flock to treatment as though they had stored up their ailments waiting for someone to help them. Word of mouth was the best form of advertisement. 

Sometimes, a healer’s reputation could open doors that would otherwise be sealed shut. Several days before my next visit with Jamie, I received a letter from a small messenger boy summoning me to Helwater. The message requested an urgent consultation with the daughter of Lord William Dunsany. 

Dear God. The covetous little tart was summoning me.

As tempted as I was to throw away the letter, my Hippocratic oath compelled me to lend my services. I had to admit to curiosity at the young woman’s ailment, if there even was one. I didn’t think it above her to manipulate me to her home for a private conversation.

Fergus was out finding his own amusements, so I had no choice but to bring Brianna along with me. The letter indicated a carriage would be sent for us within the hour, and I hadn’t the time to go track him down. I packed up my medical bag and left a note for Fergus detailing where we were headed. I was just finishing preparations as the carriage pulled up to our front door.

“Da!” said Brianna. Our carriage had arrived driven by our favorite of Helwater’s grooms. She rushed to her father, who was more than eager to swoop her up.

“I missed ye, a leannan.” He kissed her sweetly on the nose before doing the same to me. “And you, too, Sassenach.”

“Do you have any idea why the girl needs a healer.”

“No. The family is private about such things.” Jamie assisted Brianna and I up to sit with him on the driver’s bench. Brianna made herself comfortable on his lap so she could “help” steer the horses. 

“When I heard the new healer in town was being urgently summoned, I volunteered to retrieve her from the village,” he smirked. “Where is Fergus?”

“From what I gather, he’s taken a fancy to one of the girls working at the tavern.”

“Hmphm. Do I need to have words wi’ him about taking care where he sows his seed?”

“I’ve discussed it with him, but I’m sure it would mean more coming from you. Although, a boy raised in a brothel would likely understand such consequences better than either of us.”

“Hmphm,” he agreed.

“Faster, Da!” giggled Brianna, yanking on the reigns. 

“Easy now, a nighean. This is a carriage and those are no war horses. We canna ride sae wild as we do at Lallybroch.”

“Did the little trollop say anything to her mother about Red Jamie?” I asked.

“I dinna ken, but I think no. I’m still wi’out shackles as ye can see.”

“She may be biding her time...or perhaps calling me over is some stunt of hers?”

“Nah. They dinna ken the healer’s name. Ye set a broken toe on the housekeeper’s son yesterday, and she sang the praises of the lovely, English wisewoman with manners of gentility and hands strong enough to pull teeth.”

I laughed at the description, “That’s a far more generous account of me than I usually receive in the 18th century.”

“Aye,” he laughed. “I had to ask if the healer had a mad storm of dark hair following behind her before I believed she was speaking of ye in particular, mo chridhe.”

I cuffed his shoulder at his teasing. Shortly after, I found my head resting on that same shoulder as we enjoyed the peaceful ride on the bumpy road to the estate. Perhaps on our ride back we could take a little extra time together and have a picnic by the lake. I felt like the teenager I never got to be in my childhood...sneaking kisses, stealing moments. I longed for the time Jamie and I could just live as man and wife...nothing in our way.

As the estate pulled into view, I sighed in defeat. Today was not that day. 

When we stopped at the end of the drive, I was surprised to find Lady Dunsany and Geneva coming to greet us. Geneva's sickly green color from our last meeting returned in full force when she recognized me. 

“Lady Dunsany,” said Jamie, “my wife, Mistress MacKenzie, is the healer ye sent for from the village. She’s mended my own wounds a few dozen times, at least. Tales of her abilities are no exaggerated, I assure you.”

“Your wife?” The lady raised her brows in surprise. She shook off her astonishment. “Thank you for coming, my dear.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I said. I turned to Geneva who was staring at Brianna hanging onto Jamie’s hand. “My lady? I’m sorry to hear you are unwell. Would you like to go inside to start the examination?”

“Oh no,” said Lady Dunsany. “It’s my younger daughter, Isobel, who is unwell. Please come along, and I’ll lead you to her.”

“I’ll take Bree to see the horses,” said Jamie. He squeezed my hand and turned to pick up Brianna. 

Geneva shook her head to pull her attention away from Jamie and our daughter. She took a deep breath and avoided my eyes as she followed her mother inside.

Isobel Dunsany, it turned out, was a very sweet and shy young woman. Quite the opposite of manner and disposition as her elder sister. Unfortunately, her excessive agreeableness was likely related to a nervous disposition. The urgency of the examination was preempted by chest pains, shortness of breath, elevated heart rate, and feverish sweating. After completing my examination, I concluded that she was likely experiencing an attack of panic. I prescribed herbal treatments of chamomile and lavender for her nerves, ginger for digestion (as nervous conditions were so often associated with gastrointestinal distress), and plenty of exercise and socialization.

“The more you hibernate away from sunshine and society, the worse these sort of conditions get,” I warned.

Lady Dunsany sat on the edge of the bed where her daughter was lying. “Lord John has such a charming disposition. Perhaps the two of you can go for a walk through the gardens tomorrow, darling?”

“That’s an excellent idea,” I reinforced.

Isobel’s countenance brightened considerably. I wondered if the poor girl had any idea about John’s romantic inclinations. 

“Perhaps, Mistress MacKenzie,” said Lady Dunsany, “we could entice you to stay with us for the next several days to keep an eye on Isobel.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be quite fine.”

“Yes, my dear, but I’d feel much better if you stayed to brew the teas and consult about recommended activity levels. You should think it more for the sake of soothing my nerves than my daughter’s.”

“It’s only...my children…”

“Of course your daughter is welcome to stay with you here in one of the rooms. Do you have another child?”

“My son. He’s old enough to stay on his own, but he’ll worry if we don’t return.”

“I see. I’ll send a stable boy if you’d like to write him a letter. And, of course, Mr. MacKenzie is welcome to stay with you, as well.”

Two nights with Jamie! In a bed! I wasn’t above taking advantage of such an unnecessary precaution. “That is very generous of you, my lady. I would love to stay and care for your daughter.”

____________________

“Oh dear,” I said several hours later as Brianna came running into our guest room covered head to toe in filth. Her father followed behind not looking much different. At least he had the decency to flush with shame at his appearance. 

He hooked Brianna around the middle as she attempted to hurl herself onto me while smelling worse than she looked. He lifted her to his face and talked to her like an errant puppy. “We need to wash up before climbing on yer ma, a nighean.”

“‘We?’ Were you intending to climb on me, as well?”

“Always, mo nighean donn.” He leaned toward me so his body wouldn’t touch my dress and kissed me hello.

Brianna continued to squirm in his arms, but he maneuvered her with ease. “I didna ken they’d be inviting us to dinner or I wouldna ha’ let the lassie convince me to jump a wee gate on a horse prone to spook.” 

“I shouldn’t think there is ever a good time to be jumping skittish horses with a five year old. I’m guessing you both fell off by the state of your clothes?”

“Och,” he scoffed.

A surprisingly warm and pleasant housekeeper entered the room with fresh warm water and a tray of fine soaps. She set quickly to work helping Jamie and Brianna disrobe so she could wash their clothes. She left the room with a bundle of filthy rags and returned magically with elegant replacements for dinner. Thankfully, I was dressed well enough—and smelled pleasant enough—to avoid having to change. 

Brianna and Jamie both required thorough scrubbing to remove the scent of horse from their skin and tame their red manes to resemble something other than long-haired highland cattle. 

As I helped Brianna into her dress, I noticed Jamie staring at the bed with a look of longing in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze had me wondering whether he was feeling particularly tired or perhaps a bit lustful. “Penny for your thoughts, soldier?”

His mouth twitched in a half smile that didn’t meet his eyes. His voice assumed a soft, bittersweet tone when he spoke. “Strange the places life takes us, no?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. He was talking to a time-traveler, for goodness sake.

He laughed quietly with me, “Ye ken what I meant. A year ago, I never thought I’d see a bed like this again, much less be sleeping with my wife in one...and our child, as well. And now...all I can hope for is to be far away from this place another year from now.”

I finished tying the laces on Brianna’s dress before making my way over to Jamie. His arm came naturally around my waist, and I nuzzled against his side. “Where do you see us a year from now?”

“Hmphm. I dinna ken. My heart longs for Scotland, but I canna return to Lallybroch while on parole. And even if I could…”

“Your men are in North Carolina.”

“Aye.” He sighed heavily. “I dinna desire spending months at sea, but if ever I’m free of this place, I’ll have to set sail for America.”

“WE will set sail for America.”

He looked at me warily. “Ye sure, Sassenach? Fergus and the bairn? ’Tis no easy journey.”

“We won’t be parted from you ever again. If you’re going to America, we’ll be right there with you.”

He smiled at that and bent to kiss me. “Home is wherever ye are, Sassenach. As long as I’m with ye, I canna help but find happiness.”

I kissed him deeply, my hands tangling in his long, clean hair. I reluctantly pulled away to continue readying ourselves for dinner. “Come, let me braid your hair.”

I led him to a chair so I could brush his beautiful locks.

He continued our conversation, “Ye ken, Jenny will be none too pleased wi’ me taking off to America.”

“No, I can’t imagine she would be. Oh! That reminds me…” I hunted down my medicine bag and found a letter Jenny sent with one of the Lallybroch tenants traveling through Ardsmuir. It had arrived just before we left for England. “This is from your sister.”

Jamie read through the letter giving me the highlights and adding personal commentary as he went along. “She’s wi’ child, again! She thinks it’s a boy. She’ll name him for his father...Oh Dhia. They’re taking in an orphan...Can ye believe that, Sassenach? A bairn and a foster child all at once. Thank God ye left them the gold or they’d be starved by the end of the month wi’ as many mouths as they have to feed…”

“Stop moving while you talk, darling. Your braid will be uneven.”

“Hmphm. The child is wee Marsali McKimmie from Balriggin. Her mother died in an accident on the farm, kicked in the heid by a mule...Ye remember Laoghaire, Sassenach? Aye, of course ye do. The poor lass is only a wean, and both her parents gone. Well, she’s in good hands now...”

I grabbed a ribbon and tied off the braid. “There you go. All finished.”

Jamie looked briefly in the mirror in approval before returning his attention back to the letter. “Ian thanks ye for leaving the balm for his leg…” 

I lost track of his mutterings as I took in his beautiful appearance. He was all the more dashing with time...and a bath. The sound of his voice was hypnotic in absence of all other sounds—even if he was using it to tell me about farmyard accidents and which goats Jenny intended to breed next. 

He had been right before...as long as we were together, we could find a way to be happy. It didn’t matter if it was in our dreams, or at Lallybroch, or in prison, or paroled to Helwater. And it wouldn’t matter if we ended up in Scotland or Italy or North Carolina. Home was wherever we chose to make it.

____________________

“What a beautiful family!” said Lady Dunsany as we arrived downstairs for dinner. “Come, Mistress MacKenzie, I must have you sit next to Isobel. She is feeling so much better since you brewed that tea this afternoon.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you, kindly, Mistress,” said Isobel. “You’ve quite lived up to your reputation.”

Brianna and I were seated between Lord John Grey and Isobel. Across from us sat Geneva Dunsany on one side and John’s brother on the other. Jamie was escorted to sit in between. Lord and Lady Dunsany sat at each end of the table.

The men, almost immediately, started conversation regarding increasing hostilities with the French in the Far East colonies. I wondered how Jamie felt talking politics with a couple of redcoats and Duke he was all but enslaved to. 

As though there was some sort of sound proof partition between genders, the women ignored the conversation as though it was happening in a different room. I noticed Geneva eyeing me warily from across the table. When she finally spoke to me, her tone was full of sweet venom. “Tell us about yourself, Mistress MacKenzie. How did you come to be such a fine healer?”

“Oh, I was trained by some physicians in Boston.”

“Boston? But you're from England, are you not? Your accent…”

“Oxfordshire, originally. But I was orphaned young and raised by an uncle who traveled all over the world.” 

Geneva leaned forward and spoke, “And how did a world-traveling, English healer come to marry a Scotsman?” Her raised eyebrow was a challenge, not an invitation. 

“I met Mr. MacKenzie while traveling in Scotland.”

“And how did he end up a groom for the estate?” 

I gritted my teeth. Geneva must have concluded I’d rather keep secrets than tell lies, which she was what she was clearly trying to corner me into doing. I did my best to stick to the truth. “This is a fine estate and a wonderful opportunity for my husband. While I can practice healing anywhere. People get just as sick in England as they do in Scotland or Boston.”

In no mood to stay on the defensive with little biscuit, I asked, “I was delighted to hear about your upcoming nuptials. An Earl, I hear? I’d love to hear all about him. You must be thrilled.”

I sipped my wine with more than a little pleasure as I waited for her answer. 

“Ecstatic,” she said, entirely without enthusiasm. But a flame lit deep inside her eyes as she stared back at me and said, “What I’m really looking forward to are the events I have planned leading up to the wedding. So many NOVEL experiences lay before me. I think I should be quite...overcome with pleasure...long before I say my vows.”

“Oh, my lady, I think you’ll be quite surprised to find that what occurs after you’re married is far more fulfilling than anything that happens before. If you’re lucky enough to find a husband as devoted as mine, you’ll never want for the most important things in life...being cherished, valued, adored, and respected.”

Geneva laughed, “For a woman with your worldly experience, I’d assume you would have a more realistic view of the opposite sex. From what I’ve seen of most men, they’re controlled by pride, circumstance, and baser instincts.”

“I suppose, if one was marrying a common man, that may be true. That has not, however, been my experience of the sacrament of marriage. I wish you much the same in yours.”

Geneva’s eyes turned to Jamie with a predatory gleam as she spoke to me, “How wonderful for you that your marriage has been so fulfilling...thus far.” Her emphasis on the last two words made my blood boil. My thoughts turned to the likes of Laoghaire MacKenzie, the Duke of Sandringham, and Black Jack Randall. I’d seen the same look in all their eyes when they gazed at my husband and the same entitlement in their voices. It didn’t work out well for any of them, and I did not foresee it would turn out much better for Miss Dunsany.

The rest of dinner was mercifully uneventful, save for one moment went Geneva leaned toward Jamie and spoke quietly under her breath. Her lip curled in self-satisfaction, but Jamie gave no sign of outward discomfort. He flashed me a reassuring smile and rejoined the conversation at the other end of the table.

“What did she say?” I asked as we retired for the night. Brianna had fallen asleep in Jamie’s arms as he carried her up to our room. I made a pallet near the hearth for her to rest, so we could have a few moments alone in bed before she inevitably joined us.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. It matters naught.” He set Brianna down gently and covered her with a blanket. 

“She threatened you, didn’t she?”

“Hmphm.” His tone indicated frustrated confirmation. 

“Do you think she’ll tell her mother who you are if you don’t do as she asks?”

“What do ye mean ‘if?’ Of course, I’ll no accept her filthy proposal...and my wife and daughter in the same house, for Christ’s sake.” Jamie began peeling off his clothes, showing undue aggression to each of his buttons. “As to whether or no she’ll talk to her mother...I dinna ken.” 

Jamie turned to me and pulled at the laces of my dress. “Either way, let’s make the most of this bed while we can. We may not see another like it for some time.”

“We’ll be fine if we have to run, Jamie. Italy is nice in the summer. I’m quite fond of Prosecco. And carbohydrates...”

He stopped me with his lips to let me know he’d had enough. He picked me up and carried me to bed, making decent use of the expensive piece of furniture.

_____________________

We weren’t rushed out of Helwater by storming red coats when we woke in the morning, so we thought that was a good sign. In fact, I was greeted quite pleasantly by Lady Dunsany who summoned me to check in on Isobel and brew more tea to have with breakfast. 

Isobel and John planned a walk through the gardens after breakfast, and Lady Dunsany insisted Jamie, Brianna, and I accompany them should Isobel fall ill. Geneva was conspicuously absent during the preparations for the morning stroll, but I saw her lingering behind with her mother as we made our way out the door.

“Should we just make for the village?” I asked only half joking. “A running start would be nice.” 

He chuckled, “Let’s be sure someone is truly after us before we go running off and ensure someone comes after us. She may no be telling her mother who I am just now.”

It was a beautiful spring morning, completely at odds with my own inner turmoil. The sunshine glittered brightly off the morning dew lingering on the grass. Brianna chased butterflies down different pathways lined with colorful blossoms. 

We quickly fell behind John and Isobel at our meandering pace, but I wasn’t in any rush to catch up. I imagined some alone time with John would do a great deal to alleviate Isobel’s anxiety. Alone time with Jamie was always good for mine.

“Mama! What kind of flowers are these?” asked Brianna, sticking her face in a blooming bush to inhale the scent.

“Hellebore, darling. Careful. They’re poisonous.”

She filed the little bit of information away, then she was off following the flight of a honeybee in another direction.

Jamie hooked my arm through his elbow and I grabbed onto his bicep. 

“I miss this,” he said. “You and the smell of the garden lingering on ye no matter how often ye wash yer hands...forcing me to stop for wee herbs on the side of the road...saddlebags overflowing with weeds and dirt…”

He brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed my silver wedding ring. “That’s what I want more than anything, Claire. To have a place where you can dig around in the ground, where I have a few crops and horses, and Brianna can run free and play wi’out fear of danger or losing one of her parents. That is all.”

“I want that, too, Jamie. We’ll make it happen,” I insisted, though I really wasn't sure that future would ever be a possibility for us.

He wasn’t fooled by my pretense of courage. He stopped and turned me into him. John and Isobel were lost from sight down some garden path and Brianna was distracted pulling on an earthworm a dozen feet away. We appeared to be quite alone for the moment.

Jamie lifted my chin with his knuckle and smiled down at me. “I promise ye, mo nighean donn, I will work for the rest of my life to give us that dream.”

“So will I.”

He bent his head and his lips met mine. “To kiss ye, Sassenach, is such a gift.”

I lifted up to my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck, “Then let me rain them down on you.”

Our kisses were softer than the breeze on our skin, our tongues gentler than the petals of daffodils, yet the force of our mouths’ connection made my joints weak. Jamie held me upright by his gravitational pull alone.

Dear God, I was madly in love with my husband.

“Didn’t they teach the prisoners at Ardsmuir how to behave in polite society, Lord Melton?” Geneva Dunsany’s voice cut through our moment of bliss.

Jamie kissed me once more for good measure before pulling his mouth away and tucking me protectively into his side. 

Lord Melton, the Duke of Pardloe, was escorting Geneva Dunsany through the garden. His bright red coat a shock to the eyes amidst all the greens, yellows, and whites of the garden. 

Geneva was looking quite smug and ready for trouble. She wore a malicious smile that did nothing flattering to a face that could’ve been beautiful on another person with a kinder disposition.

“Apologies if our affection offends ye, my lady,” said Jamie. “Once ye’re marrit, ye may understand how a man can be quite overcome by the presence of his wife.”

“Well, you mustn't let us stop you from saying your goodbyes,” said Geneva, grinning. “I’m quite certain you’ll need them very soon.”

“Why is that, my dear?” asked Lord Melton.

“Oh, I just had a conversation with my mother,” her eyes flared with triumph. “I’m sure Mistress MacKenzie will be leaving shortly.” Her laugh was so full of schadenfreude it made my breakfast turn. 

Lord Melton obviously misinterpreted the meaning behind Geneva’s words when he said, “I’m glad to hear your sister is doing so well that she no longer requires her healer. A credit to you, Mistress MacKenzie.”

I bowed my head wordlessly in acknowledgment, too overcome with anger to speak. Jamie was tensed around me, his grip growing firmer by the moment.

“We’ll be on our way, then..”

A scream pierced the air from the other side of a large hedge. 

“What the Devil?” said Jamie, looking toward the scream.

“Lord John and Isobel,” I said. 

“Is she unwell?” asked Melton

“I don’t know.” 

The four of us rushed toward the direction of the scream, Brianna following closely behind. A large hedge, much like a wall separating one part of the garden from another, blocked Isobel and John from view.

Jamie’s legs were longer and faster than the rest of us and consequently rounded the hedge first. He stopped in his tracks and put up a hand to stave us off. His other hand was lifted in the air as though showing himself unarmed to whoever was behind it.

Oh dear...it was trouble, then. 

I held Brianna back and was about to turn and run with her when Geneva ignored Jamie’s warning and ran by, yelling for her sister, “Isobel?!”

“Stay back!” said Jamie.

As soon as Geneva turned the corner of the hedge, a shot rang out. She stopped still a moment before gravity overtook her. Her body collapsed in a heap on the ground. 

“NO!” Isobel screamed from somewhere behind the hedge.

“She was unarmed!” said Jamie to the unknown gunman. Jamie’s hands were still in the air, so I assumed that was not the only weapon the attacker was carrying.

Although Geneva’s body was partially blocked by the hedge, I could see blood emptying profusely from her chest. Given the location of the wound and the sheer amount of blood, I was certain she’d die if I didn’t intervene immediately. 

Jamie shook his head and gave me a look that told me not to move or I’d likely be joining her. Brianna was holding onto my skirts as she looked at Geneva’s unmoving body. I could feel her trembling, but she had the good sense to keep quiet.

“What is it ye want, man?” Jamie asked some unseen person.

“He wants the Frenchman’s Treasure,” said John’s voice through the hedges. “He followed me here because he thinks I have it. I told him we never found out where the damned treasure was, if there even was a treasure, at all. Duncan Kerr was a raving old loon.”

“Lord John is right,” said Jamie. “Ol’ Duncan was a speaking daft at the end. He didna make any bit of sense.”

I peered through the hedge and could see outlines of several people standing still. One was obviously Lord John in his bright, red coat, and that was likely Geneva standing next to him.

“You were there when he spoke with the old man?” said a Frenchman’s voice. He was standing just on the other side of the hedge. If the great bush wasn’t between us, I’d probably be able to reach out and touch him. Lord Melton pulled us aside, and I nearly screamed, having forgotten he was there. 

“Aye,” said Jamie. “I was the one who translated Duncan’s gibberish for Lord John. I can tell ye, the man was raving.”

“Tell me everything Kerr said, or I will kill the other girl next.”

Melton slowly drew his long sword so it didn’t make a sound. He peered through the hedge and lined up the sword so it would hit the Frenchman’s center mass when thrust through the bush. 

“I’ll tell you all I remember. Just let the lassie go home, aye? Ye dinna want to take both daughters away from their father on the same day.”

“She’ll be staying right here until…”

Melton, holding the sword with both hands, thrust it straight through the bush and into the Frenchman. A curse and a gunshot rang out from the other side. 

Jamie jumped forward toward the Frenchman and out of my line of sight, and after a few thumping sounds and a brief struggle everything was quiet…

Then Jamie’s voice rang out clear. “John! Claire! Come quick!”

Trusting that Jamie ensured the Frenchman was effectively subdued, I ran around the hedge with Brianna in tow. The Frenchman was lying dead on the ground, a pistol in each hand. Lord Melton’s sword stuck out from the man’s side, and the Frenchman’s head was turned at an angle that left no question his neck was broken. I recognized him at once as the man I ran into in Ardsmuir village who was looking for Duncan Kerr...the one who lied about Duncan having a daughter in Paris.

“Claire!” Jamie drew my attention to the other two bodies on the ground...Lord John and Isobel Dunsany. Jamie was bent over John, taking off his jacket to staunch a bloody wound on his side. Isobel was bleeding from her arm. The bullet must have passed through John and buried in Isobel’s bicep.

“John!” said Melton, rushing to his brother’s side. He took over applying pressure on the wound as Jamie stood up to secure the area. 

“Is he going to be alright?” Melton asked.

The entry and exit points on John’s wound were both clean. I’d have to fish out the bullet from Isobel’s arm to ensure no pieces of metal broke off in John's body before embedding into hers. “I think so. But I’ll need to get them inside to properly treat them.”

I used scraps of my petticoat for makeshift bandages for both my patients. It reminded me of the night I met Jamie. 

When my patients were sufficiently wrapped up enough to be moved, Melton helped Isobel to her feet. She was able to walk if she leaned on him for assistance. John, however, couldn’t stand on his own. Jamie picked up the small framed man and carried him off toward the house.

I double-checked one last time to ensure the Frenchman and Geneva were both dead. Neither of them had a pulse. I hoped I didn’t have to be the one to tell Lord and Lady Dunsany. 

“Mama?” Brianna said coming to my side. “Is it safe now?”

“Yes, darling. It’s safe. Are you alright?” 

She nodded her head, but her little body was shaking in fear. I hugged her close to my heart and thanked God she was well. She’d just seen far more than any child should ever have to witness.

“Come, my love...Mama needs to go fix up Lord John and Isobel.” And worry about the fallout of everything else later.


	13. An American Dream

An American Dream  
___________________

I’m not sure who was more violently ill on the ship from Paris to North Carolina, me or Jamie. Probably Jamie for the first week, then me for the next two months until we found dry land in Wilmington.

“Are ye well, Claire? Ye’re no feeling ill again, are ye?” asked Jamie. “Yer face is as green as highland bracken.”

“No...I’m fine, really. This riverboat is much steadier than the Artemis. I was just remembering what it was like to be seasick.”

Jamie pulled me into his arms and rubbed my belly. He was grinning from ear to ear as he said, “Ye most certainly ha’ my wean in there, Sassenach. The wee laddie is going to be as much a sailor as his father.”

“Laddie? You’ve decided it’s a boy?”

“Aye. William James Henry Fraser. I dreamt it last night.”

“That’s a wonderful name. I certainly have no objection.”

Jamie seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment. “Then again, I thought Brianna would be a lad, as well. If it turns out to be another lass, please dinna name the bairn for Willie. Name her for yer mother or yourself. I willna have a daughter named Wilhelmina.”

“I don’t know. Willa is a beautiful name.”

“Hmphm. It doesna matter. As long as you and the bairn are both well, ye can call it whatever ye like.” He kissed me softly. “Though I’m still certain it’s a lad.”

Jamie led me to a seat on the riverboat as the captain steered us toward Jocasta Cameron’s plantation, River Run. It was hard to believe we made it here after everything we’d been through.

“I wish I could’ve been there in that dream with you,” I said, rubbing my stomach and the little life that grew inside. “I would’ve loved to see our baby.”

“Aye,” Jamie spoke with pride. “He was a strapping young lad. His hair was dark brown, like yours, but he looked like his Da and his sister in his features. Braw and canty. We were running around a ridge in a forest unlike one I’d ever seen before. And we had a great big house I built myself...wi’ a garden for ye, Sassenach. And a grand surgery for ye to see patients.”

“It sounds incredible. I wish I could’ve been there. Why do you think we can’t meet in our dreams anymore, Jamie?”

“I dinna ken for certain, Sassenach, but I think our dreams were meant to bring us back together. Now that ye’re wi’ me, we have no need of them.”

“How did they bring us back together?”

“Weel, ye said those people who were after ye and Brianna back in your time knew how to find ye because they read that letter from Jenny’s daughter. The one telling her friend about Auntie Claire being a faerie and taking their cousin to the stones. The girls overheard me telling Jenny and Ian about ye and the bairn only because I’d met ye in my dreams not long before.”

“So, if we wouldn’t have met in our dreams, you wouldn’t have talked to Jenny and Ian about me, the girls would’ve never overheard what you said, and the Scottish radicals would’ve never found their letter and come after us, sending us back to the stones?”

Jamie shrugged. “And at Ardsmuir. If we wouldn’t have dreamt together there, ye wouldna ha’ known about the lashing, and ye wouldna ha’ gone after John to convince him to help us like ye did.”

“I guess your explanation is as good as any.”

“We dinna meet in our dreams anymore, because we’re already together. We’re where we’re meant to be, mo nighean donn.”

I looked to Fergus and Brianna who were playing with dice on the deck of the boat and felt the truth of Jamie’s words. We had our son, our daughter, and a baby on the way. We were on our way to pick up Murtagh and the rest of Jamie’s men. And for the first time in our lives together, we were truly free...unbound to any country, cause, or price on our heads.

Jamie’s bravery in killing the Frenchman who attacked Geneva, Isobel, and John earned him his pardon. I’m sure my medical intervention to Isobel and John played some role in Lord and Lady Dunsany’s decision.

“I wonder if Lord John ever found out any more information about the woman the Frenchman was employed by...Melisande Robicheaux?”

“Did I forget to tell ye before we left Paris, Sassenach? John heard tell the woman changed her name and traveled to the West Indies. Word is she’s settled in Jamaica.”

“Well, I hope he tracks her down and makes her pay for what she had done to him. I don’t like the idea of some murderous woman out there knowing that our gems and coins exist. I don’t see how she could trace them back to us, but it still makes me uncomfortable.”

“Aye, Sassenach. Me, as well. We’ll find a buyer for the gems and coins we have left verra soon, and be rid of them for good.”

I threaded my fingers through Jamie’s. “Have you decided what you want to do after that? Where you want our family to settle? Scotland? Italy?”

“Well, we’re going nowhere while ye’re wi’ child, mo chridhe. I’ll not have ye suffer on a ship like that again.”

“And after I have the baby?”

Jamie’s eyes were looking out over the water, but I could tell he was lost in some vision in his mind. “I dinna ken just yet, Sassenach, but I have a feeling about my dream from last night. I think...I think mebbe we could stay here...in America. Start fresh and new. Lord Melton did give us that letter of introduction to Governor Tryon. He told us about the land grants…”

“You’d want to settle here? In America? You know there’s a war coming. I told you all about it.”

Jamie shrugged with a sweet smile curling his mouth. “Aye, but no for some time. And there’s always another war coming, nay matter where we settle.”

I certainly knew the truth of that. 

“But would ye like it, Claire? To raise a family here? We can free the Ardsmuir men and invite them to be settlers. I can build ye a great house and yer very own surgery. The weans could be free of people who want to do us harm.”

I leaned into the crook of his arm and took in his comforting presence. My hand rested on my stomach as I imagined what it might be like to have our own home...our own place for our family. 

I looked up into Jamie’s sparkling blue eyes alight with hope and felt more at peace than I’d ever felt in my life. “Yes, Jamie, it sounds like a dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed. I appreciate all the comments you left and all the encouragement. Much love!


End file.
